v.. 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 
AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 
DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 
SOCIETIES 


PR3481 

.C77 

1857 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL^HjLL 

10000475184 


This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 

DATE  nw?T 
DUE 

DATE 
DUE 

X  — ' — ^-^ 

form  No.  b'l3 

POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


WitJ  t!)irt2  Illustrations 
John  Absolon,  Birket  Foster,  James  Godwiit, 
AND  Harrison  Weir. 


NOfir/y 


WILLIS  p.  HAZARD,* 90  C 
PHILADHLPH 

18  5 


r 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2015 


https://archive.org/details/poeticalworksofoOOgold_0 


THE 

POETICAL  WORKS 

OP 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


PAGIS 

MEMOIR         •        •        •  ^     •        •        •        •        •        •      '•  9 

THE  TRAVELLER  :   OR,  A  PROSPECT  OP  SOCIETr  •        •        •  .19 

THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE  45 

THE  HAUNCH  OF  VENISON   .  71 

RETALIATION  76 

POSTSCRIPT  ......  •  .84 

ON  A  BEAUTIFUL  YOUNG  MAN  STRUCK  BLIND  BY  LIGHTNINa    .  86 

THE  HERMIT   .87 

THE  DOUBLE  TRANSFORMATION  96 

THE  GIFT  101 

THE  LOGICIANS  REFUTED  102 

SONNET  •        •        •        •         .  104 

A  NEW  SIMILE  •        •        •        •  105 

^N  ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OP  A  MAD  DO©     .....  108 

THE  clown's  REPLY  110 

STANZAS  ...........ib. 

DESCRIPTION  OF  AN  AUTHOR'S  BEDCHAMBER  ....  Ill 

SONG  112 

EPITAPH  ON  EDWARD  PURDON        .         .         .         .         •         .  ib. 

STANZAS  ON  THE  TAKING  OF  QUEBEC  113 

(Viij 


viii  Contents. 

PAGE 

AN  ELEGY  ON  THE  GLORY  OF  HEB  SEX,  MRS.  MARY  BLAIZB  •       .  114 

EPITAPH  ON  DR.  PARNELL  115 

A  PROLOGUE  WRITTEN  AND  SPOKEN  BY  THE  POET  LABERITJS  .  116 
/ROLOGUE  TO  ZOBEIDE  :  A  TRAGEDY  .  .  *  .  ,  117 
EPILOGUE  SPOKEN  BY  MR.  LEE  LEWIS  .  .  ,  .  .  119 
EPILOGUE  TO  THE  COMEDY  OP  "the  sisters"  .  •  •  121 
EPILOGUE,  SPOKEN  BY  MRS.  BULKLEY  AND  MISS  CATLEY  .  .  123 
AN  EPILOGUE,  INTENDED  FOR  MRS.  BULKLEY  .         .         .  128 

EPILOGUE  TO  THE  COMEDY  OF      SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER"  .  130 

LINES  ATTRIBUTED  TO  DR.  GOLDSMITH  131 

ON  SEEING  MRS.  PERFORM  IN  THE  CHARACTER  OF  *  *  .  132 
TO  G.  C.  AND  R.  L.  ib. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  RIGHT  HON.  *  *  *  133 

AN  EPIGRAM  .        •        •        •  134 

THE  CAPTIVITY,  AN  ORATORIO     •••••••  135 


MEMOIR 


OF 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


The  father  of  Oliver  Goldsmith  was  Curate  of  Pallas,  oi 
Pallasmore,  County  Longford,  Ireland,  where  Oliver  was 
born,  November  10,  1728.  At  the  age  of  six  he  was 
placed  with  the  schoolmaster  of  Sissoy,  in  Westmeath,  a 
good  natured  man,  with  literary  tastes  of  a  fanciful  and 
legendary  description.  These  had  their  effect  on  young 
Goldsmith,  who  soon  began  to  scribble  verses,  some  of 
which  were  thought  so  well  of,  that  he  was  soon  declared 
to  be  the  genius  of  the  family;  steps  were  immediately 
2  (9) 


'0- 


10 


Memoir  op 


taken  for  his  better  education,  and  the  project  which  had 
been  formed  of  bringing  him  up  to  trade  was  abandoned. 
Another  circumstance  told  greatly  in  his  favour.  A 
severe  attack  of  small-pox  had  left  his  face  so  much  dis- 
figured, that  on  some  occasion  it  provoked  a  joke  from  one 
of  his  juvenile  acquaintance,  whereupon  Oliver  made  so 
lively  a  repartee  as  was  thought  astonishing  evidence  of 
power,  and  his  friends  agreed,  in  conjunction  with  his 
father,  to  supply  the  money  for  his  college  career,  but 
the  latter  being  unable  to  comply  with  his  promise,  Oliver 
was  obliged  to  enter  Trinity  as  a  Sizar,  that  is,  one  who 
was  taught  and  boarded  gratuitously,  and  whose  only  ex- 
pense was  for  lodging,  in  consideration  of  which  he  had  to 
perform  various  menial  offices,  irksome  to  the  feelings  of 
gentlemen.   These  degrading  obligations  are  now  abolished. 

Oliver's  college  career  was  by  no  means  a  pleasant  one. 
His  father  died,  and  his  friends  relaxed  in  their  assistance, 
with  the  exception  of  his  uncle,  the  Rev.  Thomas  Contarine, 
on  whose  generosity  he  was  now  entirely  dependent. 
His  tutor.  Wilder,  was  a  harsh  man,  and  on  the  occasion 
of  a  convivial  party  at  Goldsmith's  rooms  he  was  so  en- 
raged, that  he  rushed  into  the  midst  of  the  company  and 
brutally  assaulted  the  unlucky  poet,  who,  considering  the 
disgrace  as  irreparable,  left  the  University,  and  wandered 
about  for  four  or  five  days,  when  he  met  with  his  brother, 
who  persuaded  him  to  return,  and  efi'ected  a  reconciliation 
with  Wilder.  Oliver  resumed  his  studies,  but  gained  few 
honours,  and  finally  quitted  college  in  February,  1749, 
having  taken  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts. 

He  had  now  no  hope  but  in  the  favour  of  his  uncle, 
Contarine,  who  received  him  willingly,  and  prevailed  on 
him  to  study  for  the  church.  He  did  so,  and  in  due  time 
presented  himself  for  ordination  to  the  Bishop  of  Elfin, 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


11 


who  rejected  him,  as  most  people  thought  on  account  of 
his  former  irregularities  at  college,  but  more  probably 
because  the  poet  appeared  in  costume  more  resembling 
in  brilliancy  the  scarlet  livery  of  a  footman  than  the  re 
spectable  black  of  a  clergyman.  This  caused  his  friends  to 
think  badly  of  him,  and  he  got  little  from  them  but  advice. 
His  uncle,  however,  supplied  him  with  £50,  and  it  was 
decided  that  Oliver  should  study  the  law,  but  unfortunately 
he  met  with  an  old  friend  in  Dublin,  and  the  money  was 
squandered  in  dissipation  or  lost  at  play. 

Oliver  next  turned  his  attention  to  medicine,  and  his 
family  supporting  him,  he  went  to  Edinburgh,  where  im- 
mediately occurred  a  ludicrous  instance  of  his  forgetfulness. 
He  hired  a  room,  deposited  his  trunks,  &c.,  went  out  for  a 
walk,  and  when  at  a  late  hour  he  thought  of  returning 
home,  he  found  that  he  had  neglected  to  ascertain  either 
the  name  or  address  of  his  landlady.  Fortunately  he  met 
the  porter  whom  he  had  employed  in  the  morning,  and 
was  soon  freed  from  his  dilemma.  He  remained  two 
winters  at  Edinburgh,  and  then  drew  on  his  uncle  Con, 
tarine  for  funds  to  enable  him  to  travel  for  the  purpose  of 
finishing  his  medical  studies.  After  various  adventures 
(including  imprisonment  on  suspicion  of  being  in  the 
French  service,)  he  arrived  at  Leyden,  where  he  studied 
one  year,  and  then  set  out  on  foot  for  Paris,  and  in  fine, 
travelled  so  through  the  greater  part  of  France  and  Italy. 
His  mode  of  life  was  doubtless  that  depicted  in  the  "  phi- 
losophic vagabond,"  in  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  He 
reached  Dover  in  1756  penniless.  His  uncle  could  no 
more  assist  him,  for  he  was  dead.  The  stage  seemed  the 
only  resource  open  to  him,  and  he  turned  strolling  player 
For  an  amusing  account  of  this  portion  of  his  career,  the 
reader  is  referred  to  the  best  life  of  Goldsmith — his  works. 


12 


Memoir  of 


After  some  time  thus  spent  he  came  to  London,  and  sup- 
ported himself  as  usher  in  a  school,  and  afterwards  as 
physician  to  the  poor ;  and  at  length  we  find  his  talents 
asserting  themselves  in  the  humble  capacity  of  corrector 
of  the  press  to  Richardson,  the  novelist  and  bookseller. 
The  proprietor  of  the  Monthly  Review  next  engaged  him, 
and  he  took  up  his  abode  with  *'  illiterate  Griffiths,''  as  his 
friends  very  naturally  loved  to  call  him,  but  finding 
neither  the  society  nor  the  work  pleasant,  and  the  remu- 
neration by  no  means  compensating  for  the  tedium,  he 
relinquished  the  engagement  after  about  five  months. 

His  old  friend,  Dr.  Milner,  master  of  the  school  where 
he  had  been  usher,  now  managed  to  have  him  appointed 
physician  to  one  of  the  Coromandel  factories,  a  poor  post 
of  only  £100  a  year,  but  with  great  advantages  in  the  shape 
of  additional  practice.  In  order  to  defray  the  necessary 
expenses  of  equipment,  he  wrote  the  Inquiry  into  the 
Present  State  of  Polite  Learning  in  Europe,  and  published 
it  by  subscription.  For  once  the  funds  were  applied  to 
their  proper  purpose,  which  was  no  sooner  done,  than,  for 
some  reason  never  explained,  the  appointment  was  set 
aside,  at  some  considerable  loss  to  Goldsmith  and  disgust 
to  his  friends. 

His  next  engagement  was  on  the  Literary  Magazine,  and 
other  periodicals,  including  his  own  publication,  The  Bee, 
and  the  world-famous  Chinese  letters,  the  Citizen  of  the 
World,  These  enabled  him  to  quit  the  melancholy  Green 
Arbour  Court,  where  he  had  been  living,  and  take  more 
commodious  rooms  in  Wine  Office  Court.  Shortly  after- 
wards he  removed  to  Garden  Court,  Temple. 

Although  not  properly  appreciated  by  the  public,  it  is 
evident  that  Goldsmith  was  more  thought  of  by  literary 
men.    He  had  now  gained  the  friendship  of  Dr.  Johnson 


Oliver  GtOldsmith 


13 


and  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  the  toleration,  possibly 
envy,  of  Boswell.  The  Literary  Club,  established  about 
this  time,  made  him  acquainted  with  Bennet  Langton, 
Topham  Beauclerc,  and  Edmund  Burke,  with  whom  he 
had  been  at  college.  The  rest  of  the  members  thought 
and  knew  but  little  about  him  until  the  appearance  of  his 
beautiful  poem,  The  Traveller^  in  1764.  This  entirely  altered 
the  opinion  of  him,  and  when,  shortly  afterwards,  the 
Vicar  of  Wakefield  was  produced,  (it  having  been  sold  to  a 
bookseller  two  years  before,  to  relieve  the  author^s  dis- 
tress,) the  previous  state  of  things  was  quite  changed,  and 
Goldsmith's  genius  was  acknowledged  by  all  the  club,  with 
the  exception  of  Boswell,  who  never  admitted  the  presence 
of  any  luminary  but  Johnson.  This  favourable  im- 
pression was  not  removed  by  the  doubtful  success  of  his 
comedy  of  The  Good  Natured  Man,  which  was  performed 
at  Covent  Garden  in  1768.  Although  it  had  no  great  run 
he  managed  to  clear  about  £500  by  it,  which  enabled  him 
to  move  to  Brick  Court,  No.  2,  where,  in  most  luxurious 
apartments,  he  entertained  constant  parties  of  friends,  to 
the  great  annoyance  of  Blackstone,  who  was  diligently 
preparing  his  CojnmentaHes  in  the  rooms  beneath.  These 
dissipations  were  expensive,  and  the  success  of  his  History 
of  Rome  soon  afterwards  was  of  great  importance. 

All  this  time,  however,  he  was  not  idle.  He  was  slowly 
proceeding  with  his  History  of  the  Earth  and  Animated 
Nature,  and  in  May,  1770,  The  Deserted  Village  appeared. 
Five  editions  were  exhausted  in  three  months,  and  with 
the  proceeds  of  them  he  started  for  Paris,  in  company 
with  a  delightful  party  of  friends,  the  Hornecks,  to  one  of 
whom  he  had  been  long  attached,  though  unavowedly. 
On  his  return  he  published  biographies  of  Bolingbroke 
and  Parnell,  and  an  abridgment  of  the  Roman  history. 


14  Memoirof 

The  History  of  England  nQxi  appeared,  and  though  de- 
cidedly successful,  occasioned  a  great  deal  of  discussion 
and  ill  will.  Goldsmith,  however,  in  a  letter  to  Bennet 
Langton,  apologizing  for  not  visiting  him,  owing  to  press 
of  business,  declared  that  his  aim  was  "  to  make  up  a  book 
of  a  decent  size,  that,  as  ''Squire  Kichard  says,  "  would  do 
no  harm  to  nohody^ 

Press  of  business  did  not  prevent  him  from  paying  a 
visit  to  the  country  house  of  Mr.  Bunbury,  who  had  married 
the  sister  of  his  favourite.  Miss  Horneck,  "  the  Jessamv 
Bride,''  as  he  used  to  call  her.  She  was  there  too,  which 
perhaps  accounts  for  this  singular  pliability  of  circumstan- 
ces. We  have  amusing  accounts  from  various  members  of 
the  family,  of  Goldsmith  romping  with  the  children,  and 
of  the  good-nature  with  which  he  bore  the  coarse  practi- 
cal jokes  of  impertinent  people  who  did  not  understand  his 
fine  nature. 

Goldsmith's  position  was  now  well  established,  but  his 
natural  inactivity  and  love  of  pleasure  prevented  him  from 
ever  being  free  of  his  literary  engagements.  He  had  re- 
ceived a  large  sum  of  money  for  the  Natural  History^  and 
but  little  of  it  was  written.  To  escape  from  the  dissipa- 
tions of  town,  he  took  lodgings  near  Edgeware  ;  Boswell 
visited  him  there,  and  found  the  walls  covered  with  pencil 
descriptions  of  animals.  Washington  Irving  gives  the  fol- 
lowing records  preserved  of  him  : 

"  Sometimes  he  strolled  about  the  fields,  or  was  to  be 
seen  loitering,  and  reading,  and  musing  under  the  hedges. 
He  was  subject  to  fits  of  wakefulness,  and  read  much  in 
bed  ;  if  not  disposed  to  read,  he  still  kept  the  candle  burn- 
ing ;  if  he  wished  to  extinguish  it,  he  flung  his  slipper  at 
it,  which  would  be  found  in  the  morning  near  the  over- 
turned candlestick,  and  daubed  with  grease.    He  was 


Oliver  Goldsmith. 


15 


noted  here,  as  everywhere  else,  for  his  charitable  feelings. 
No  beggar  applied  to  him  in  vain,  and  he  evinced  on  all 
occasions  great  commiseration  for  the  poor/^  -s^  * 
He  would  sing  Irish  songs,  and  the  Scotch  ballad  of 
Johnny  Armstrong.  He  took  the  lead  in  the  children's 
sports  of  blind  man's  buff,  hunt  the  slipper,  &c.,  or  in  their 
games  at  cards,  and  was  th^  most  noisy  of  the  party ; 
affecting  to  cheat,  and  to  be  excessively  eager  to  win ; 
while  with  children  of  smaller  size,  he  would  turn  the 
hind  part  of  his  wig  before,  and  play  all  kinds  of  tricks  to 
amuse  them.''  ^  -^^  ^  *'I  little  thought,'^  says  Miss 
Hawkins,  what  I  should  have  to  boast,  when  Goldsmith 
taught  me  to  play  Jack  and  Jill,  by  two  bits  of  paper  on 
his  fingers." 

But  all  his  time  was  not  occupied  in  these  childish 
amusements.  Indeed,  so  closely  did  he  attend  to  his  work, 
that  confinement  brought  on  a  severe  illness  when  he  re- 
turned to  town  in  the  summer  of  1772,  and  beset  with 
anxieties  and  annoyances,  he  plunged  into  dissipations 
which  only  served  to  increase  them,  and  to  fix  in  his  un- 
dermined constitution  the  se6ds  of  death. 

The  envy  and  malice  of  Colman  prevented  the  comedy 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  from  being  acted  until  the  follow- 
ing March,  and  it  was  only  then  done  through  the  kind  re- 
monstrances of  Johnson.  It  met  with  the  most  perfect 
and  deserved  success,  but  very  little  was  obtained  from 
Newbery  for  the  copyright. 

A  plan  which  he  had  formed  for  a  Dictionary  of  Arts 
and  Sciences,  to  which  Johnson,  Burke,  Reynolds,  Garrick, 
and  Burney,  had  agreed  to  contribute,  fell  to  the  ground 
through  want  of  confidence  on  the  part  of  the  booksellers 
towards  the  author,  who  was  known  to  have  much  work 
still  in  hand.    He  was  also  disappointed  of  receiving  a 


16 


Memoir  of 


pension,  which  he  had  hoped  to  obtain.  Washington  Irv- 
ing considers  this  attributable  to  his  having  once  refused 
to  become  *'  a  ministerial  hack/' 

Ill-health  and  low  spirits  came  fast  upon  him.  Embar- 
rassed with  work,  and  hard  pressed  for  money,  his  gaiety 
forsook  him,  and  he  once  promised  to  dine  with  a  friend, 
upon  condition  that  he  should  be  asked  to  eat  nothing — 
nor  did  he.  Perhaps  his  last  moments  of  real  happiness 
were  passed  in  the  society  of  Miss  Horneck,  on  a  Christ- 
mas invitation  to  the  house  of  her  sister ;  and  even  to  con- 
trive this,  he  had  to  increase  a  debt  of  £40  to  Garrick,  the 
actor,  to  £100,  for  which  sum  he  gave  his  note  of  hand. 

We  have  arrived  at  the  period  of  Goldsmith's  last 
literary  performance,  a  satire  called  Retaliation,  On  one 
occasion  when  he  happened  to  be  behind  time  at  an  enter- 
tainment, some  of  the  company  facetiously  called  him 

the  late  Dr.  Goldsmith,''  and  some  epitaphs  were  thrown 
off  upon  him.    The  only  one  remembered  is  by  Garrick ; — 

''Here  lies  Poet  Goldsmith,  for  shortness  called  Noll, 
Who  wrote  like  an  angel,  but  talked  like  poor  Poll." 

This  somewhat  annoyed  Goldsmith,  who  determined  to 
fight  on  his  adversary's  ground,  and  accordingly,  a 
severe  and  clever  sketch  of  Garrick  was  given  in  Retalia- 
iioUj  which  also  called  for  its  reply.  An  unfinished  epi- 
taph, praising  the  goodness  of  Sir  Joshua  Keynolds,  was 
the  last  act  of  friendship  which  the  poet  performed,  and  he 
died,  leaving  the  picture  incomplete.  No  precise  malady 
is  mentioned,  but  his  death  is  attributed  to  general  weak- 
ness and  fever,  heightened  by  a  persevering  use  of  improper 
medicine.    His  death  took  place,  April  4,  1774. 

In  the  same  year  appeared  the  History  of  Greece,  with 
the  following  advertisement  prefixed  : — "  The  applause  be- 


\ 


Oliver  Goldsmith.  17 

stowed  on  the  Koman  History,  written  by  Doctor  Gold- 
smith, induced  that  gentleman  to  complete  his  plan,  by 
writing  a  History  of  Greece.  The  work  was  printed  off 
when  the  republic  of  letters  was  deprived  of  one  of  its 
brightest  ornaments.  Since  the  author^s  decease,  the  work 
has  been  perused  by  several  of  his  learned  friends,  who  are 
of  opinion  that  it  has  an  equal  claim  to  that  approbation 
which  the  Roman  History  received  from  the  public.'' 

"  His  death, says  Washington  Irving,  was  a  shock  to 
the  literary  world,  and  a  deep  affliction  to  a  wide  circle  of 
intimates  and  friends ;  for,  with  all  his  foibles  sisnd  peculi- 
arities, he  was  fullv  as  much  beloved  as  he  was  admired. 
Burke,  on  hearing  the  news,  burst  into  tears.  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  threw  by  his  pencil  for  the  day,  and  grieved 
more  than  he  had  done  in  times  of  great  family  distress. 
Johnson  felt  the  blow  deeply  and  gloomily.  Id  writing 
some  time  afterwards  to  Boswell,  he  observed,  *  Of  poor 
Dr,  Goldsmith  there  is  little  to  be  told  more  than  the  pa- 
pers have  made  public.  He  died  of  a  fever,  made,  I  am 
afraid,  more  violent  by  uneasiness  of  mind.  His  debts  be- 
gan to  be  heavy,  and  all  his  resources  were  exhausted. 
Sir  Joshua  is  of  opinion  that  he  owed  no  less  than  two 
thousand  pounds.    Was  ever  poet  so  trusted  before  V '' 

Surely  the  grief  of  these  great  men  was  the  highest 
panegyric  they  could  bestow. 


8 


B 


THE  TRAVELLER; 

OR, 

A  PROSPECT  OF  SOCIETY. 


lehiration. 


To  THE  Eev.  Henry  Goldsmith. 
*   Dear  Sir, 

I  AM  sensible  that  the  friendship  between  us  can  acquire  no  new 
force  from  the  ceremonies  of  a  Dedication ;  and  perhaps  it  demands 
an  excuse  thus  to  prefix  your  name  to  my  attempts,  which  you  de- 
cline giving  with  your  own.  But  as  a  part  of  this  poem  was  for- 
merly written  to  you  from  Switzerland,  the  whole  can  now,  with 
propriety,  be  only  inscribed  to  you.  It  will  also  throw  a  light  upon 
many  parts  of  it,  when  the  reader  understands  that  it  is  addressed 
to  a  man,  who,  despising  fame  and  fortune,  has  retired  early  to 
happiness  and  obscurity,  with  an  income  of  forty  pounds  a  year. 

I  now  perceive,  my  dear  brother,  the  wisdom  of  your  humble 
choice.  You  have  entered  upon  a  sacred  office,  where  the  harvest 
is  great,  and  the  labourers  are  but  few;  while  you  have  left  the 
field  of  ambition,  where  the  labourers  are  many,  and  the  harvest 
not  worth  carrying  away.  But  of  all  kinds  of  ambition,  what  from 
the  refinement  of  the  times,  from  different  systems  of  criticism,  and 
from  the  divisions  of  party,  that  which  pursues  poetical  fame  is  the 
wildest. 

Poetry  makes  a  principal  amusement  among  unpolished  nations; 
but  in  a  country  verging  to  the  extremes  of  refinement,  Painting 
and  Music  come  in  for  a  share.  As  these  ofl'er  the  feeble  mind  a 
less  laborious  entertainment,  they  at  first  rival  Poetry,  and  at  length 

(21  J 


Dedication. 


supplant  her ;  they  engross  all  that  favour  once  shown  to  her,  and, 
though  but  younger  sisters,  seize  upon  the  elder's  birth -right. 

Yet,  however  this  art  may  be  neglected  by  the  powerful,  it  is 
atill  in  greater  danger  from  the  mistaken  efforts  of  the  learned  to 
improve  it.  What  criticisms  have  we  not  heard  of  late  in  favour  of 
blank  verse,  and  pindaric  odes,  choruses,  anapests  and  iambics, 
alliterative  care  and  happy  negligence  !  Every  absurdity  has  now 
a  champion  to  defend  it ;  and  as  he  is  generally  much  in  the  wrong, 
so  he  has  always  much  to  say,  for  error  is  ever  talkative. 

But  there  is  an  enemy  to  this  art  still  more  dangerous  ;  I  mean 
party.  Party  entirely  distorts  the  judgment,  and  destroys  the 
taste.  When  the  mind  is  once  infected  with  this  disease,  it  can 
only  jBnd  pleasure  in  what  contributes  to  increase  the  distemper. 
Like  the  tiger,  that  seldom  desists  from  pursuing  man,  after  having 
once  preyed  upon  human  flesh,  the  reader,  who  has  once  gratified  his 
appetite  with  calumny,  makes  ever  after  the  most  agreeable  feast 
upon  murdered  reputation.  Such  readers  generally  admire  some 
half-witted  thing,  who  wants  to  be  thought  a  bold  man,  having  lost 
the  character  of  a  wise  one.  Him  they  dignify  with  the  name  of 
poet ;  his  tawdy  lampoons  are  called  satires ;  his  turbulence  is  said 
to  be  force,  and  his  phrenzy  fire. 

What  reception  a  poem  may  find,  which  has  neither  abuse,  party, 
nor  blank  verse  to  support  it,  I  cannot  tell,  nor  am  I  solicitous  to 
know.  My  aims  are  right.  Without  espousing  the  cause  of  any 
party,  I  have  attempted  to  moderate  the  rage  of  all.  I  have  en- 
deavoured to  show,  that  there  may  be  equal  happiness  in  states 
that  are  differently  governed  from  our  own ;  that  every  state  has  a 
particular  principle  of  happiness,  and  that  this  principle  in  each 
may  be  carried  to  a  mischievous  excess.  There  are  few  can  judge 
better  than  yourself  how  far  these  positions  are  illustrated  in  this 
poem. — I  am,  dear  sir, 

Your  most  affectionate  brother, 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


/  Eemote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow, 
Or  by  the  lazy  Scheld,  or  wandering  Po ; 
Or  onward  where  the  rude  Carinthian  boor 
Against  the  houseless  stranger  shuts  the  door, 
Or  where  Campania's  plain  forsaken  lies, 
A  weary  waste  expanding  to  the  skies — 
Where'er  I  roam,  whatever  realms  to  see. 
My  heart,  untravelFd,  fondly  turns  to  thee ; 
*  Still  to  my  brother  turns,  with  ceaseless  pain. 
And  drags  at  each  remove  a  lengthening  chain. 

Eternal  blessings  crown  my  earliest  friend. 
And  round  his  dwelling  guardian  saints  attend : 
Blest  be  that  spot,  where  cheerful  guests  retire 
To  pause  from  toil,  and  trim  their  evening  fire ; 

(23) 


24    Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

Blest  that  abode,  where  want  and  pain  repair, 

And  every  stranger  finds  a  ready  chair; 

Blest  be  those  feasts  with  simple  plenty  crown'd, 

Where  all  the  ruddy  family  around 

Laugh  at  the  jests  or  pranks  that  never  fail. 


Or  sigh  with  pity  at  some  mournful  tale ; 
Or  press  the  bashful  stranger  to  his  food, 
And  learn  the  luxury  of  doing  good. 

But  me,  not  destinM  such  delights  to  share, 
My  prime  of  life  in  wandering  spent  and  care — 
Impeird  with  steps  unceasing  to  pursue 
Some  fleeting  good  that  mocks  me  with  the  view, 
That,  like  the  circle  bounding  earth  and  skies, 
Allures  from  far,  yet,  as  I  follow,  flies — 
My  fortune  leads  to  traverse  realms  alone. 
And  find  no  spot  of  all  the  world  my  own. 


The  Traveller. 


E^en  now,  where  Alpine  solitudes  ascend, 
I  sit  me  down  a  pensive  hour  to  spend ; 


And  placed  on  high,  above  the  storm^s  career, 
Look  downward  where  a  hundred  realms  appear — 
Lakes,  forests,  cities,  plains  extending  wide, 
The  pomp  of  kings,  the  shepherd's  humbler  pride.  . 

When  thus  creation's  charms  around  combine, 
Amidst  the  store  should  thaukless  pride  repine  ? 
Say,  should  the  philosophic  mind  disdain 
That  good  which  makes  each  humbler  bosom  vain  ? 
4 


w 


26    Gtoldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

Let  school-taught  pride  dissemble  all  it  can, 

These  little  things  are  great  to  little  man ; 

And  wiser  he  whose  sympathetic  mind 

Exults  in  all  the  good  of  all  mankind. 

Ye  glittering  towns  with  wealth  and  splendour  crown'd; 

Ye  fields  where  summer  spreads  profusion  round; 

Ye  lakes  whose  vessels  catch  the  busy  gale ; 

Ye  bending  swains  that  dress  the  flowery  vale ; 

For  me  your  tributary  stores  combine ; 

Creation's  heir,  the  world,  the  world  is  mine ! 

As  some  lone  miser,  visiting  his  store, 
Bends  at  his  treasure,  counts,  recounts  it  o'er  ] 
Hoards  after  hoards  his  rising  raptures  fill, 
Yet  still  he  sighs,  for  hoards  are  wanting  still : 
Thus  to  my  breast  alternate  passions  rise. 
Pleas' d  with  each  good  that  Heaven  to  man  supplies, 
Yet  oft  a  sigh  prevails,  and  sorrows  fall. 
To  see  the  hoard  of  human  bliss  so  small; 
And  oft  I  wish,  amidst  the  scene,  to  find 
Some  spot  to  real  happiness  consigned. 
Where  my  worn  soul,  each  wandering  hope  at  rest, 
May  gather  bliss,  to  see  my  fellows  blest. 

But  where  to  find  that  happiest  spot  below, 
Who  can  direct,  when  all  pretend  to  know  ? 
The  shuddering  tenant  of  the  frigid  zone  / 
Boldly  proclaims  that  happiest  spot  his  own ; 
Extols  the  treasures  of  his  stormy  seas, 
And  his  long  nights  of  revelry  and  ease ; 


The  Traveller. 

The  naked  negro,  panting  at  the  line, 
Boasts  of  his  golden  sands  and  palmy  wine, 
Basks  in  the  glare,  or  stems  the  tepid  wave, 
And  thanks  his  gods  for  all  the  good  they  gave. 

Such  is  the  patriot's  boast,  where'er  we  roam, 
His  first,  best  country,  ever  is  at  home. 
And  yet,  perhaps,  if  countries  we  compare, 
And  estimate  the  blessings  which  they  share, 
Though  patriots  flatter,  still  shall  wisdom  find 
An  equal  portion  dealt  to  all  mankind ; 
As  difierent  good,  by  art  or  nature  given. 
To  difierent  nations,  makes  their  blessings  even. 

Nature,  a  mother  kind  alike  to  all. 
Still  grants  her  bliss  at  labour's  earnest  call: 
With  food  as  well  the  peasant  is  supplied 
On  Idra's  clifi"  as  Arno^s  shelvy  side ; 
And  though  the  rocky-crested  summits  frown 
These  rocks,  by  custom,  turn  to  beds  of  down. 
From  art  more  various  are  the  blessings  sent — 
Wealth,  commerce,  honour,  liberty,  content; 
Yet  these  each  other's  power  so  strong  contest, 
That  either  seems  destructive  of  the  rest : 
Where  wealth  and  freedom  reign,  contentment  fails, 
And  honour  sinks  where  commerce  long  prevails. 
Hence  every  state,  to  one  lov'd  blessing  prone, 
Conforms  and  models  life  to  that  alone ; 


28    Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

Each  to  the  favourite  happiness  attends; 
And  spurns  the  plan  that  aims  at  other  ends — 
Till,  carried  to  excess  in  each  domain, 
This  favourite  good  begets  peculiar  pain. 

But  let  us  try  these  truths  with  closer  eyes, 
And  trace  them  through  the  prospect  as  it  lies : 
Here,  for  a  while  my  proper  cares  resigned, 
Here  let  me  sit  in  sorrow  for  mankind ; 
Like  yon  neglected  shrub,  at  random  cast. 
That  shades  the  steep,  and  sighs  at  every  blast. 

Far  to  the  right,  where  Appennine  ascends, 
Bright  as  the  summer,  Italy  extends  : 
Its  uplands  sloping  deck  the  mountain's  side, 
Woods  over  woods  in  gay  theatric  pride, 
While  oft  some  temple's  mouldering  tops  between 
With  venerable  grandeur  mark  the  scene. 

Could  nature's  bounty  satisfy  the  breast, 
The  sons  of  Italy  were  surely  blest. 
Whatever  fruits  in  different  climes  are  found, 
That  proudly  rise,  or  humbly  court  the  ground — 
Whatever  blooms  in  torrid  tracts  appear. 
Whose  bright  succession  decks  the  varied  year — 
Whatever  sweets  salute  the  northern  sky 
With  vernal  lives,  that  blossom  but  to  die — 


The  Traveller. 

These  "here  disporting  own  the  kindred  soil, 
Nor  ask  luxuriance  from  the  planter's  toil ; 
While  sea-born  gales  their  gelid  wings  expand 
To  winnow  fragrance  round  the  smiling  land. 


But  small  the  bliss  that  sense  alone  bestows. 
And  sensual  bliss  is  all  the  nation  knows; 


30   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

In  florid  beauty  groves  and  fields  appear — 
Man  seems  the  only  growth  that  dwindles  here. 
Contrasted  faults  through  all  his  manners  reign : 
Though  poor,  luxurious ;  though  submissive,  vain ; 
trhough  grave,  yet  trifling:  zealous,  yet  untrue; 
And  even  in  penance  planning  sins  anew. 
All  evils  here  contaminate  the  mind. 
That  opulence  departed  leaves  behind ; 
For  wealth  was  theirs — nor  far  removed  the  date 
When  commerce  proudly  flourish^  through  the  state. 
At  her  command  the  palace  learnM  to  rise, 
Again  the  long-fallen  column  sought  the  skies, 
The  canvass  glowed,  beyond  e'en  nature  warm, 
The  pregnant  quarry  teemed  with  human  form ; 
Till,  more  unsteady  than  the  southern  gale. 
Commerce  on  other  shores  displayed  her  sail, 
While  nought  remained,  of  all  that  riches  gave, 
But  towns  unmanned  and  lords  without  a  slave— 
And  late  the  nation  found,  with  fruitless  skill, 
Its  former  strength  was  but  plethoric  ill. 

Yet,  still  the  loss  of  wealth  is  here  supplied 
By  arts,  the  splendid  wrecks  of  former  pride : 
From  these  the  feeble  heart  and  long-fallen  mind 
An  easy  compensation  seem  to  find. 
Here  may  be  seen,  in  bloodless  pomp  array'd, 
The  pasteboard  triumph  and  the  cavalcade ; 
Processions  form/d  for  piety  and  love — 
A  mistress  or  a  saint  in  every  grove : 


The  Traveller. 


31 


By  sports  like  these  are  all  their  cares  beguil'd ; 
The  sports  of  children  satisfy  the  child. 
Each  nobler  aim,  represt  by  long  control, 
Now  sinks  at  last,  or  feebly  mans  the  soul ; 
While  low  delights,  succeeding  fast  behind, 
In  happier  meanness  occupy  the  mind. 
As  in  those  domes,  where  Caesars  once  bore  sway, 
Defaced  by  time  and  tottering  in  decay, 
There  in  the  ruin,  heedless  of  the  dead, 
The  shelter-seeking  peasant  builds  his  shed ; 
And,  wondering  man  could  want  the  larger  pile, 
Exults,  and  owns  his  cottage  with  a  smile. 

My  soul,  turn  from  them,  turn  we  to  survey 
Where  rougher  climes  a  nobler  race  display — 


32   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

Where  the  bleak  Swiss  their  stormy  mansions  tread, 

And  force  a  churlish  soil  for  scanty  bread. 

No  product  here  the  barren  hills  afford, 

But  man  and  steel,  the  soldier  and  his  sword; 

No  vernal  blooms  their  torpid  rocks  array, 

But  winter  lingering  chills  the  lap  of  May ; 

No  zephyr  fondly  sues  the  mountain's  breast, 

But  meteors  glare,  and  stormy  glooms  invest. 

Yet  still,  even  here,  content  can  spread  a  charm, 
Redress  the  clime,  and  all  its  rage  disarm. 
Though  poor  the  peasant's  hut,  his  feast  though  small, 
He  sees  his  little  lot  the  lot  of  all. 
Sees  no  contiguous  palace  rear  its  head. 
To  shame  the  meanness  of  his  humble  shed — 
No  costly  lord  the  sumptuous  banquet  deal, 
To  make  him  loathe  his  vegetable  meal — 
But  calm,  and  bred  in  ignorance  and  toil. 
Each  wish  contracting,  fits  him  to  the  soil. 
Cheerful  at  morn,  he  wakes  from  short  repose. 
Breathes  the  keen  air,  and  carols  as  he  goes ; 
With  patient  angle  trolls  the  finny  deep ; 
;0r  drives  his  venturous  ploughshare  to  the  steep; 
Or  seeks  the  den  where  snow-tracks  mark  the  way. 
And  drags  the  struggling  savage  into  day. 
At  night  returning,  every  labour  sped, 
He  sits  him  down  the  monarch  of  a  shed ; 
Smiles  by  his  cheerful  fire,  and  round  surveys 
His  children's  looks,  that  brighten  at  the  blaze — 


The  Trayeller.  38 

While  his  loVd  partner,  boastful  of  her  hoard, 
Displays  her  cleanly  platter  on  the  board : 


And  haply  too  some  pilgrim,  thither  led ; 
With  many  a  tale  repays  the  nightly  bed. 

Thus  ev'ry  good  his  native  wilds  impart 
Imprints  the  patriot  passion  on  his  heart ; 
And  e^en  those  hills,  that  round  his  mansion  rise, 
Enhance  the  bliss  his  scanty  fund  supplies : 
Dear  is  that  shed  to  which  his  soul  conforms, 
And  dear  that  hill  which  lifts  him  to  the  storms; 
And  as  a  child,  when  scaring  sounds  molest, 
Clings  close  and  closer  to  the  mother's  breast — 
So  the  loud  torrent,  and  the  whirlwind's  roar. 
But  bind  him  to  his  native  mountains  more. 

Such  are  the  charms  to  barren  states  assigned— 
Their  wants  but  few,  their  wishes  all  confined  ; 
5  C 


34 


Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


Yet  let  them  only  share  the  praises  due, 
If  few  their  wants^  their  pleasures  are  but  few : 
For  every  want  that  stimulates  the  breast 
Becomes  a  source  of  pleasure  when  redress'd. 
Whence  from  such  lands  each  pleasing  science  flies, 
That  first  excites  desire,  and  then  supplies. 
Unknown  to  them,  when  sensual  pleasures  cloy, 
To  fill  the  languid  pause  with  finer  joy; 
Unknown  those  powers  that  raise  the  soul  to  flame, 
Catch  every  nerve  and  vibrate  through  the  frame : 
Their  level  life  is  but  a  smouldering  fire, 
Unquench'd  by  want,  unfann'd  by  strong  desire ; 
Unfit  for  raptures,  or,  if  raptures  cheer 
On  some  high  festival  of  once  a  year. 
In  wild  excess  the  vulgar  breast  takes  fire, 
Till,  buried  in  debauch,  the  bliss  expire. 

But  not  their  joys  alone  thus  coarsely  flow — 
Their  morals,  like  their  pleasures,  are  but  low ; 
For,  as  refinement  stops,  from  sire  to  son. 
Unaltered,  unimproved,  the  manners  run — 
'And  love's  and  friendship's  finely  pointed  dart 
Fall  blunted  from  each  indurated  heart. 
Some  sterner  virtues  o'er  the  mountain's  breast 
May  sit,  like  falcons  cowering  on  the  nest ; 
But  all  the  gentler  morals,  such  as  play 
Through  life's  more  cultur'd  walks,  and  charm  the  way 
These,  far  dispers'd,  on  timorous  pinions  fly, 
To  sport  and  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky. 


The  Traveller. 

To  kinder  skies,  wliere  gentler  manners  reign,  ' 
I  turn ;  and  France  displays  her  bright  domain. 
Gay  sprightly  land  of  mirth  and  social  ease, 
Pleased  with  thyself,  whom  all  the  world  can  please 


How  often  have  I  led  thy  sportive  choir, 
With  tuneless  pipe,  besides  the  murmuring  Loire  ! 
Where  shading  elms  along  the  margin  grew, 
And,  freshened  from  the  wave,  the  zephyr  flew ! 
And  haply,  though  my  harsh  touch,  faltering  still, 
But  mock'd  all  tune,  and  marr'd  the  dancer's  skill- 
Yet  would  the  village  praise  my  wondrous  power, 
And  dance,  forgetful  of  the  noontide  hour. 
Alike  all  ages.    Dames  of  ancient  days 
Have  led  their  children  through  the  mirthful  maze ; 
And  the  gay  grandsire,  skill' d  in  gestic  lore, 
Has  frisk'd  beneath  the  burthen  of  threescore. 


36   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works 


So  blessed  a  life  these  thoughtless  realms  display; 
Thus  idly  busy  rolls  their  world  away. 
Theirs  are  those  arts  that  mind  to  mind  endear, 
For  honour  forms  the  social  temper  here  : 
Honour,  that  praise  which  real  merit  gains, 
Or  even  imaginary  worth  obtains, 
Here  passes  current — paid  from  hand  to  hand, 
It  shifts  in  splendid  traffic  round  the  land; 
From  courts  to  camps,  to  cottages  it  strays, 
And  all  are  taught  an  avarice  of  praise — 
They  please,  are  pleased,  they  give  to  get  esteem. 
Till,  seeming  blest,  they  grow  to  what  they  seem. 

But  while  this  softer  art  their  bliss  supplies, 
It  gives  their  follies  also  room  to  rise ; 
For  praise  too  dearly  lov'd,  or  warmly  sought, 
Enfeebles  all  internal  strength  of  thought : 
And  the  weak  soul,  within  itself  unblest, 
Leans  for  all  pleasure  on  another's  breast. 
Hence  ostentation  here,  with  tawdry  art, 
Pants  for  the  vulgar  praise  which  fools  impatt. 
Here  vanity  assumes  her  pert  grimace, 
And  trims  her  robes  of  frieze  with  copper  lace ; 
iTere  beggar  pride  defrauds  her  daily  cheer, 
To  boast  one  splendid  banquet  once  a  year : 
The  mind  still  turns  where  shifting  fashion  draws, 
Nor  weighs  the  solid  worth  of  self-applause. 

To  men  of  other  minds  my  fancy  flies. 
Embosom' d  in  the  deep  where  Holland  lies. 


The  Traveller.  37 


Metbinks  her  patient  sons  before  me  stand, 
Wbere  tbe  broad  ocean  leans  against  the  land ; 
And,  sedulous  to  stop  the  coming  tide, 
Lift  the  tall  rampire^s  artificial  pride. 
Onward,  metbinks,  and  diligently  slow. 
The  firm  connected  bulwark  seems  to  grow. 
Spreads  its  long  arms  amidst  the  watery  roar, 
Scoops  out  an  empire,  and  usurps  the  shore — 
While  the  pent  ocean,  rising  o'er  the  pile, 
-Sees  an  amphibious  world  beneath  him  smile ; 
The  slow  canal,  the  yellow  blossomed  vale, 
-    The  willow-tufted  bank,  the  gliding  sail. 
The  crowded  mart,  the  cultivated  plain — 
A  new  creation  rescued  from  his  reign. 

Thus,  while  around  the  wave-subjected  soil 
Impels  the  native  to  repeated  toil, 


88 


Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


Industrious  habits  in  each  bosom  reign, 

And  industry  begets  a  love  of  gain. 

Hence  all  the  good  from  opulence  that  springs, 

With  all  those  ills  superfluous  treasure  brings, 

Are  here  display'd.    Their  much-lov'd  wealth  imparts 

Convenience,  plenty,  elegance,  and  arts ; 

But  view  them  closer,  craft  and  fraud  appear — 

Even  liberty  itself  is  bartered  here. 

At  gold^s  superior  charms  all  freedom  flies ; 

The  needy  sell  it,  and  the  rich  man  buys  : 

A  land  of  tyrants,  and  a  den  of  slaves, 

Here  wretches  seek  dishonourable  graves ; 

And,  calmly  bent,  to  servitude  conform, 

Dull  as  their  lakes  that  slumber  in  the  storm.  ' 

Heavens  !  how  unlike  their  Belgic  sires  of  old — 
Rough,  poor,  content,  ungovernably  bold. 
War  in  each  breast,  and  freedom  on  eacji  brow ; 
How  much  unlike  the  sons  of  Britain  now ! 

Fir'd  at  the  sound,  my  genius  spreads  her  wing, 
And  flies  where  Britain  courts  the  western  spring; 
Where  lawns  extend  that  scorn  Arcadian  pride. 
And  brighter  streams  than  fam^d  Hydaspis*  glide. 
There,  all  around,  the  gentlest  breezes  stray ; 
There  gentle  music  melts  on  ev'ry  spray; 
Creation's  mildest  charms  are  there  combined  : 
Extremes  are  only  in  the  master's  mind. 

*A  river  in  India,  now  called  the  Jelum. 


The  Traveller. 


Stern  o'er  each  bosom  reason  holds  her  state, 

With  daring  aims  irregularly  great. 

Pride  in  their  port,  defiance  in  their  eye, 

I  see  the  lords  of  human  kind  pass  by, 

Intent  on  high  designs — a  thoughtful  band, 

By  forms  unfashionM,  fresh  from  nature's  hand, 

Fierce  in  their  native  hardiness  of  soul, 

True  to  imagined  right,  above  control ; 

While  even  the  peasant  boasts  these  rights  to  scan 

And  learns  to  venerate  himself  as  man. 

Thine,  freedom,  thine  the  blessings  pictured  her 
Thine  are  those  charms  that  dazzle  and  endear; 
Too  blest,  indeed,  were  such  without  alloy, 
But,  fostered  e'en  by  freedom,  ills  annoy ; 
That  independence  Britons  prize  too  high, 
Keeps  man  from  man,  and  breaks  the  social  tie  : 
The  self-dependent  lordlings  stand  alone — 
All  claims  that  bind  and  sweeten  life  unknown. 
Here,  by  the  bonds  of  nature  feebly  held. 
Minds  combat  minds,  repelling  and  repelFd ; 
Ferments  arise,  imprisoned  factions  roar. 
Repressed  ambition  struggles  round  her  shore — 
Till,  overwrought,  the  general  system  feels 
Its  motions  stopp'd,  or  frenzy  fire  the  wheels. 

Nor  this  the  worst.    As  nature's  ties  decay, 
As  duty,  love,  and  honour  fail  to  sway, 
Fictitious  bonds,  the  bonds  of  wealth  and  law, 
Still  gather  strength,  and  force  unwilling  awe. 


40   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

Hence  all  obedience  bows  to  these  alone, 

And  talent  sinks^  and  merit  weeps  unknown ; 

Till  time  may  come,  wben,  stripped  of  all  her  charms, 

The  land  of  scholars,  and  the  nurse  of  arms — 

Where  noble  stems  transmit  the  patriot  flame, 

Where  kings  have  toiFd,  and  poets  wrote  for  fame — 

One  sink  of  level  avarice  shall  lie. 

And  scholars,  soldiers,  kings,  unhonour'd  die. 

Yet  think  not,  thus  when  freedom's  ills  I  state, 
I  mean  to  flatter  kings,  or  court  the  great. 
Ye  powers  of  truth,  that  bid  my  soul  aspire, 
Far  from  my  bosom  drive  the  low  desire  ! 
And  thou,  fair  freedom,  taught  alike  to  feel 
The  rabble's  rage,  and  tyrant's  angry  steel — 
Thou  transitory  flower,  alike  undone 
By  proud  contempt,  or  favour's  fostering  sun — 
Still  may  thy  blooms  the  changeful  clime  endure  ! 
I  only  would  repress  them  to  secure ; 
For  just  experience  tells  in  ev'ry  soil. 
That  those  who  think  must  govern  those  that  toil— 
And  all  that  freedom's  highest  aims  can  reach 
Is  but  to  lay  proportioned  loads  on  each. 
Hence,  should  one  order  disproportioned  grow, 
Its  double  weight  must  ruin  all  below. 

Oh,  then,  how  blind  to  all  that  truth  requires, 
Who  think  it  freedom  when  a  part  aspires  ! 
Calm  is  my  soul,  nor  apt  to  rise  in  arms. 
Except  wh6n  fast  approaching  danger  warns ; 


The  Traveller 


But^  when  contending  cHefs  blockade  the  throne, 
Contracting  regal  power  to  stretch  their  own — 
When  I  behold  a  factious  band  agree 
To  call  it  freedom  when  themselves  are  free — 
Each  wanton  judge  new  penal  statutes  draw, 
Laws  grind  the  poor,  and  rich  men  rule  the  law — - 
The  wealth  of  climes,  where  savage  nations  roam, 
Pillag'd  from  slaves  to  purchase  slaves  at  home — 
Fear,  pity,  justice,  indignation,  start. 
Tear  off  reserve,  and  bare  my  swelling  heart : 
Till  half  a  patriot,  half  a  coward  grown, 
I  fly  from  petty  tyrants  to  the  throne. 

Yes,  brother  !  curse  with  me  that  baleful  hour 
When  first  ambition  struck  at  regal  power ; 
And  thus,  polluting  honour  in  its  source. 
Gave  wealth  to  sway  the  mind  with  double  force. 
Have  we  not  seen,  round  Britain's  peopled  shore, 
Her  useful  sons  exchanged  for  useless  ore  ? 
Seen  all  her  triumphs  but  destruction  haste. 
Like  flaring  tapers  brightening  as  they  waste  ? 
Seen  opulence,  her  grandeur  to  maintain, 
Lead  stern  depopulation  in  her  train, 
And  over  fields  where  scattered  hamlets  rose, 
In  barren  solitary  pomp  repose  ? 
Have  we  not  seen,  at  pleasure's  lordly  call, 
The  smiling  long-frequented  village  fall  ? 
Beheld  the  duteous  son,  the  sire  decay'd. 
The  modest  matron,  and  the  blushing  maid, 

6 


42 


Goldsmith's  Poetical  Woeks. 


Forc'd  from  their  homes^  a  melanclioly  train, 
To  traverse  climes  beyond  tlie  western  main — 
Where  wild  Oswego^  spreads  her  swamps  around, 
And  Niao;ara  stuns  with  thunderins;  sound  ? 

Even  now,  perhaps,  as  there  some  pilgrim  strays 
Through  tangled  forests  and  through  dangerous  ways, 
Where  beasts  with  man  divided  empire  claim, 
And  the  brown  Indian  marks  with  murderous  aim — 
There,  while  above  the  giddy  tempest  flies. 
And  all  around  distressful  yells  arise — 

*  Oswego — a  river  of  North  America  running  into  lake  Ontario. 


The  Traveller. 


43 


The  pensive  exile,  tending  with  his  woe, 
To  stop  too  fearful,  and  too  faint  to  go, 
Casts  a  long  look  where  England^ s  glories  shine. 
And  bids  his  bosom  sympathize  with  mine. 

Vain,  very  vain,  my  weary  search  to  find 
That  bliss  which  only  centres  in  the  mind. 
Why  have  I  strayM  from  pleasure  and  repose, 
To  seek  a  good  each  government  bestows  ? 
In  every  government,  though  terrors  reign. 
Though  tyrant  kings  or  tyrant  laws  restrain. 
How  small,  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure, 
That  part  which  laws  or  kings  can  cause  or  cure ! 
Still  to  ourselves  in  every  place  consign^, 
Our  own  felicity  we  make  or  find. 
With  secret  course,  which  no  loud  storms  annoy. 
Glides  the  smooth  current  of  domestic  joy; 
The  lifted  axe,  the  agonizing  wheel, 
Zeck's  iron  crown,  and  Damiens'^  bed  of  steel. 
To  men  remote  from  power  but  rarely  known — 
Leave  reason,  faith,  and  conscience,  all  our  own. 

*  George  and  Luke  Zeck  headed  an  insurrection  in  Hungary,  1514. 
George  usurped  the  sovereignty,  and  was  punished  by  a  red-hot 
iron  crown.  Damiens  attempted  the  assassination  of  Louis  XV.  of 
France,  in  1757,  and  was  tortured  to  death. 


\ 

\ 

THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE. 

(45| 


To  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

Dear  Sir, 

I  CAN  have  no  expectations  in  an  address  of  this  kind,  either  to 
add  to  your  reputation,  or  to  establish  my  own.  You  can  gain  no- 
thing from  my  admiration,  as  I  am  ignorant  of  that  art  in  which 
you  are  said  to  excel ;  and  I  may  lose  much  by  the  severity  of  your 
judgment,  as  few  have  a  juster  taste  in  poetry  than  you.  Setting 
interest  therefore  aside,  to  which  I  never  paid  much  attention,  I 
must  be  indulged  at  present  in  following  my  affections.  The  only 
dedication  I  ever  made  was  to  my  brother,  because  I  loved  him 
better  than  most  other  men.  He  is  since  dead.  Permit  me  to  in- 
scribe this  poem  to  you. 

How  far  you  may  be  pleased  with  the  versification  and  mere  me- 
chanical parts  of  this  attempt,  I  do  not  pretend  to  inquire ;  but  I 
know  you  will  object  (and  indeed  several  of  our  best  and  wisest 
friends  concur  in  the  opinion)  that  the  depopulation  it  deplores  is  no 
where  to  be  seen,  and  the  disorders  it  laments  are  only  to  be  found 
in  the  poet's  own  imagination.  To  this  I  can  scarce  make  any  other 
answer,  than  that  I  sincerely  believe  what  I  have  written ;  that  I 
have  taken  all  possible  pains  in  my  country  excursions,  for  these 
four  or  five  years  past,  to  be  certain  of  what  I  allege;  and  that  all 
my  views  and  inquiries  have  led  me  to  believe  those  miseries  real, 
which  I  here  attempt  to  display.  But  this  is  not  the  piace  to  enter 
into  an  inquiry,  whether  the  country  be  depopulating  or  not ;  the 

(17) 


48 


Dedication. 


discussion  would  take  up  much  room,  and  I  should  prove  myself,  at 
best,  an  indifferent  politician,  to  tire  the  reader  with  a  long  preface, 
when  I  want  his  unfatigued  attention  to  a  long  poem. 

In  regretting  the  depopulation  of  the  country,  I  inveigh  against 
ihe  increase  of  our  luxuries ;  and  here  also  I  expect  the  shout  of 
modern  politicians  against  me.  For  twenty  or  thirty  years  past  it 
has  been  the  fashion  to  consider  luxury  as  one  of  the  greatest  na- 
tional advantages ;  and  all  the  wisdom  of  antiquity,  in  that  particu- 
lar, as  erroneous.  Still,  however,  I  must  remain  a  professed  ancient 
on  that  head,  and  continue  to  think  those  luxuries  prejudicial  to 
states  by  which  so  many  vices  are  introduced,  and  so  many  king- 
doms have  been  undone.  Indeed  so  much  has  been  poured  out  of 
late  on  the  other  side  of  the  question,  that,  merely  for  the  sake  of 
novelty  and  variety,  one  would  sometimes  wish  to  be  in  the  right. 

I  am.  Dear  Sir, 

Your  sincere  friend,  and  ardent  admirer, 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


THE 


Sweet  Auburn  !  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 
Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  labouring  swain, 
Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 
And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delayed — 
Dear  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease, 
Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could  please — 
How  often  have  I  loitered  o'er  thy  i^roon. 
Where  humble  happiness  endear' d  jach  scene; 
How  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm — 
The  sheltered  cot,  the  cultivated  farm. 
The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill. 
The  decent  church  that  topt  the  neighbouring  hill. 
The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made ; 
How  often  have  I  bless'd  the  coming  day 
When  toil  remitting  lent  its  turn  to  play. 
And  all  the  village  train,  from  labour  free, 
Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree— 
7  D  (49) 


50   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works 


While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  the  shade,  . 
The  young  contending  as  the  old  surveyed, 
And  many  a  gambol  frolicked  o^er  the  ground, 
And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went  round,: 
And  still,  as  each  repeated  pleasure  tired, 
Succeeding  sports  the  mirthful  band  inspired ; 


The  dancing  pair  that  simply  sought  renown, 

By  holding  out  to  tire  each  other  down, 

The  swain  mistrustless  of  his  smutted  face, 

While  secret  laughter  titter' d  round  the  place, 

The  bashful  virgin's  sidelong  looks  of  love. 

The  matron's  glance  that  would  those  looks  reprove. 

These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  village  !  sports  like  these, 

With  sweet  succession,  taught  even  toil  to  please  j 


The  Deserted  Village. 


51 


These  round  thy  bowers  their  cheerful  influence  shed ; 
These  were  thy  charms — ^but  all  these  charms  are  fled. 

Sweet  smiling  village,  loveliest  of  the  lawn, 
Thy  sports  are  fled,  and  all  thy  charms  withdrawn ; 
Amidst  thy  bowers  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen, 
And  desolation  saddens  all  thy  green : 
One  only  master  grasps  the  whole  domain, 
And  half  a  tillage  stints  thy  smiling  plain. 
No  more  thy  glassy  brook  reflects  the  day, 
But  choked  with  sedges  works  its  weary  way; 


Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest, 

The  hollow-sounding  bittern  guards  its  nest ; 


52    Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works 


Amidst  thy  desert  walks  tlie  lapwing  flies, 
And  tires  their  echoes  with  unvaried  cries; 
Sunk  are  thy  bov/ers  in  shapeless  ruin  all, 
And  the  long  grass  o'ertops  the  mouldering  wall; 
And,  trembling,  shrinking  from  the  spoiler's  hand, 
Far,  far  away,  thy  children  leave  the  land. 

Ill  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay : 
Princes  and  lords  may  flourish,  or  may  fade — 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made : 
But  a  bold  peasantry,  their  country's  pride. 
When  once  destroyed,  can  never  be  supplied. 

A  time  there  was,  ere  England's  griefs  began, 
When  every  rood  of  ground  maintain'd  its  man; 
For  him  light  labour  spread  her  wholesome  store, 
Just  gave  what  life  required,  but  gave  no  more ; 
His  best  companions,  innocence  and  health, 
And  his  best  riches,  ignorance  of  wealth. 

But  times  are  alter' d;  trade's  unfeeling  train 
Usurp  the  land,  and  dispossess  the  swain  : 
Along  the  lawn,  where  scatter'd  hamlets  rose, 
Unwieldy  wealth  and  cumbrous  pomp  repose ; 
And  every  want  to  luxury  allied. 
And  every  pang  that  folly  pays  to  pride. 
Those  gentle  hours  that  plenty  bade  to  bloom, 
Those  calm  desires  that  ask'd  but  little  room. 


The  Deserted  Village, 

Those  healthful  sports  that  graced  the  peaceful  scene 
LivM  in  each  look,  and  brightened  all  the  green; 
These,  far  departing,  seek  a  kinder  shore, 
And  rural  mirth  and  manners  are  no  more. 

Sweet  Auburn  !  parent  of  the  blissful  hour, 
Thy  glades  forlorn  confess  the  tyrant's  power. 
Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds. 
Amidst  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds, 
And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 
Where  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew — 
Remembrance  wakes  with  all  her  busy  train. 
Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  past  to  pain. 

In  all  my  wandVings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs — and  God  has  given  my  share — 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  latest  hours  to  crown. 
Amidst  these  hnmble  bowers  to  lay  me  down ; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting,  by  repose. 
I  still  had  hopes,  for  pride  attends  us  still. 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learn'd  skill — 
Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw. 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt,  and  all  I  saw ; 
And,  as  an  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  he  flew, 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past 
Here  to  return — and  die  at  home  at  last. 


54    Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


0  bless'd  retirement,  friend  to  life's  decline, 
Ketreats  from  care,  that  never  must  be  mine  ? 
How  blest  is  he  who  crowns,  in  shades  like  these, 
A  youth  of  labour  with  an  age  of  ease  ; 
Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try — 
And,  since  'tis  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly. 
For  him  no  wretches,  born  to  work  and  weep, 
Explore  the  mind,  or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep; 
No  surly  porter  stands,  in  guilty  state. 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate; 


The  Deserted  Village. 


55 


But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end, 
Angels  around  befriending  virtue^  3  ffiend — 
f>  'nks  to  the  grave  with  unperceiv^  decay, 
"ft  hile  resignation  gently  slopes  tho  way — 
A^id,  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last, 
Hi  B  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  pass'd. 

iS^eet  was  the  sound,  when  oft  at  evening's  close 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose. 


There,  as  I  passed  with  careless  steps  and  slow, 
The  mingling  notes  came  softenM  from  below : 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milk-maid  sung, 
The  sober  herd  that  low'd  to  meet  their  young. 
The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool. 
The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school. 
The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bay'd  the  whispering  wind, 
And  the  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind — 
These  all  in  sweet  confusion  sought  the  shade. 
And  fiU'd  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  made. 


Golds 31  ith's  Poetical  Works. 


But  now  the  sounds  of  population  fail, 

No  cheerful  murmurs  fluctuate  in  the  gale, 

No  busy  steps  the  grass-grown  footway  tread, 

For  all  the  blooming  flush  of  life  is  fled — 

All  but  yon  widow'd,  solitary  thing, 

That  feebly  bends  beside  the  plashy  spring; 

She,  wretched  matron — forc'd  in  age,  for  bread, 

To  strip  the  brook  with  mantling  cresses  spread, 

To  pick  her  wintry  faggot  from  the  thorn. 

To  seek  her  nightly  shed,  and  weep  till  morn— 


The  Deserted  Village. 


57 


She  only  left  of  all  the  harmless  train, 
The  sad  historian  of  the  pensive  plain  ! 

Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smiled, 
And  still  where  many  a  garden  flower  grows  wild — 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansioa  rose. 
A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear; 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year. 
Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race. 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change,  his  place ; 
Unpractised  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power. 
By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour. 
Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learnM  to  prize — 
More  bent  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 
His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train ; 
He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  reliev'd  their  pain : 
The  long-remember'd  beggar  was  his  guest. 
Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast; 
The  ruin'd  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 
Claimed  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allowed ; 
The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay. 
Sat  by  his  fire,  and  talk'd  the  night  away — 
Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or,  tales  of  sorrow  done. 
Shouldered  his  crutch  and  showed  how  fields  were  won. 
Pleas'd  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to  glow, 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe ; 
Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 
8 


58   Goldsmith's  Poetical 


Works. 


Thus  to  relieve  the  wretclied  was  his  pride, 
And  even  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side — 
But  in  his  duty,  prompt  at  every  call, 
He  watch'd  and  wept,  he  pray'd  and  felt,  for  allj 
And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reprov'd  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 

Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid. 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain,  by  turns  dismayed, 
The  reverend  champion  stood.    At  his  control 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul; 
Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise, 
And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise. 

At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace. 
His  looks  adorn' d  the  venerable  place ; 


The  Deserted  Village 


59 


Truth  from  his  lips  prevaiVd  with  double  sway,  . 

And  fools,  who  came  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray. 

The  setvice  passed,  around  the  pious  man. 

With  ready  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran ; 

Even  children  followed,  with  endearing  wile, 

And  plucked  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile : 

His  ready  smile  a  parentis  warmth  expressed, 

Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distressed. 

To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given, 

But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven  : 

As  some  tall  cliff,  that  lifts  its  awful  form. 

Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm. 

Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread, 

Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head. 

Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way 
With  blossomM  furze  unprofitably  gay — 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skilFd  to  rule, 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  school ; 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view, 
I  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant  knew : 
Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face; 
Full  well  they  laughM  with  counterfeited  glee 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he ; 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper,  circling  round, 
Convey'd  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frown'd — 
Yet  he  was  kind,  or  if  severe  in  aught. 
The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault. 


60   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew; 
^Twas  certain  he  could  write  and  cypher  too ; 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  presage, 
And  even  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge. 
In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  own'd  his  skill, 
For  even  though  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still ; 
While  words  of  learned  length  aUd  thundVing  sound 
Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around — 
And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the  wonder  grew 
That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew. 

But  passed  is  all  his  fame,  the  very  spot. 
Where  many  a  time  he  triumphed,  is  forgot. 
Near  yonder  thorn,  that  lifts  its  head  on  high. 
Where  once  the  sign-post  caught  the  passing  eye, 
Low  lies  that  house  where  nut-brown  draughts  inspired, 
Where  gray-beard  mirth  and  smiling  toil  retired. 
Where  village  statesmen  talFd  with  looks  profound, 
And  news  much  older  than  their  ale  went  round. 


The  Deserted  Village.  61 


Imagination  fondly  stoops  to  trace 
The  parlour  splendours  of  that  festive  place ; 
The  white-wash' d  wall,  the  nicely  sanded  floor, 
The  varnished  clock  that  clicked  behind  the  door— 
The  chest  contrived  a  double  debt  to  pay, 
A  bed  by  night,  a  chest  of  drawers  by  day — 
-  The  pictures  placed  for  ornament  and  use. 
The  twelve  good  rules,  the  royal  game  of  goose — 
The  hearth,  except  when  winter  chilFd  the  day. 
With  aspen  boughs,  and  flowers,  and  fennel  gay- 
While  broken  tea-cups,  wisely  kept  for  show, 
Ranged  o'er  the  chimney,  glistened  in  a  row. 

Vain  transitory  splendours  !  could  not  all 
Reprieve  the  tottering  mansion  from  its  fall  ? 


62   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Woeks. 

Obscure  it  sinks ;  nor  shall  it  more  impart 
An  hour's  importance  to  the  poor  man's  heart : 
Thither  no  more  the  peasant  shall  repair 
To  sweet  oblivion  of  his  daily  care ; 
No  more  the  farmer's  news,  the  barber's  tale, 
No  more  the  woodman's  ballad  shall  prevail; 
No  more  the  smith  his  dusky  brow  shall  clear, 
Kelax  his  ponderous  strength  and  lean  to  hear; 
The  host  himself  no  longer  shall  be  found 
Careful  to  see  the  mantling  bliss  go  round ; 
Nor  the  coy  maid,  half-willing  to  be  press' d, 
Shall  kiss  the  cup  to  pass  it  to  the  rest. 

Yes !  let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain, 
These  simple  blessings  of  the  lowly  train — 
To  me  more  dear,  congenial  to  my  heart, 
One  native  charm,  than  all  the  gloss  of  art. 
Spontaneous  joys,  where  nature  has  its  play, 
The  soul  adopts  and  owns  their  first  born  sway- 
Lightly  they  frolic  o'er  the  vacant  mind, 
Unenvied,  unmolested,  unconfined; 
But  the  long  pomp,  the  midnight  masquerade, 
With  all  the  freaks  of  wanton  wealth  array' d. 
In  these,  ere  triflers  half  their  wish  obtain. 
The  toiling  pleasure  sickens  into  pain — 
And,  even  while  fashion's  brightest  arts  decoy^ 
The  heart  distrusting  asks  if  this  be  joy. 

Ye  friends  to  truth,  ye  statesmen  who  survej 
The  rich  man's  joys  increase,  the  poor's  decay— 


The  Deserted  Village.  6E 

^Tis  yours  to  judge  how  wide  the  limits  stand 

Between  a  splendid  and  a  happy  land. 

Proud  swells  the  tide  with  loads  of  freighted  ore, 

And  shouting  Folly  hails  them  from  her  shore; 

Hoards  even  beyond  the  miser's  wish  abound, 

And  rich  men  flock  from  all  the  world  around; 

Yet  count  our  gains :  this  wealth  is  but  a  name 

That  leaves  our  useful  products  still  the  same. 

Not  so  the  loss.    The  man  of  wealth  and  pride 

Takes  up  a  space  that  many  poor  supplied — 

Space  for  his  lake,  his  park's  extended  bounds, 

Space  for  his  horses,  equipage,  and  hounds; 

The  robe  that  wraps  his  limbs  in  silken  sloth 

Has  robb'd  the  neighbouring  fields  of  half  their  growth ; 

His  seat  where  solitary  spots  are  seen. 

Indignant  spurns  the  cottage  from  the  green; 

Around  the  world  each  needful  product  flies, 

For  all  the  luxuries  the  world  supplies : 

While  thus  the  land,  adorn' d  for  pleasure,  all 

In  barren  splendour  feebly  waits  the  fall. 

As  some  fair  female,  unadorn'd  and  plain, 
Secure  to  please  while  youth  confirms  her  reign. 
Slights  every  borrow' d  charm  that  dress  supplies. 
Nor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes — 
But  when  those  charms  are  pass'd,  for  charms  are  frail, 
When  time  advances,  and  when  lovers  fail — 
She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 
In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress. 


64   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


Thus  fares  the  land,  bj  luxury  betrayed : 
In  nature's  simplest  charms  at  first  arrayed — 
But  verging  to  decline,  its  splendours  rise. 
Its  vistas  strike,  its  palaces  surprise ; 
While,  scourg'd  by  famine,  from  the  smiling  land 
The  mournful  peasant  leads  his  humble  band — 
And  while  he  sinks,  without  one  arm  to  save, 
The  country  blooms — a  garden  and  a  grave. 

Where  then,  ah  !  where  shall  poverty  reside. 
To  'scape  the  pressure  of  contiguous  pride  ? 
If  to  some  common's  fenceless  limits  stray' d 
He  drives  his  flocks  to  pick  the  scanty  blade, 
Those  fenceless  fields  the  sons  of  wealth  divide, 
And  even  the  bare-worn  common  is  denied. 


The  Deserted  Village. 


65 


If  to  the  city  sped — wliat  waits  him  there  ? 
To  see  profusion  that  he  must  not  share ; 
To  see  ten  thousand  baneful  arts  combined 
To  pamper  luxury,  and  thin  mankind; 
To  see  each  joys  the  sons  of  pleasure  know, 
Extorted  from  his  fellow-creature's  woe ; 
Here,  while  the  courtier  glitters  in  brocade. 
There,  the  pale  artist  plies  the  sickly  trade; 
Here,  while  the  proud  their  long-drawn  pomps  display, 
There,  the  black  gibbet  glooms  beside  the  way. 
The  dome  where  pleasure  holds  her  midnight  reign, 
Here,  rickly  decked,  admits  the  gorgeous  train — 
Tumultuous  grandeur  crowds  the  blazing  square, 
The  rattling  chariots  clash,  the  torches  glare. 
Sure  scenes  like  these  no  troubles  e'er  annoy ; 
Sure  these  denote  one  universal  joy  ! 
Are  these  thy  serious  thoughts  ? — Ah  !  turn  thine  eyes 
Where  the  poor  houseless  shivering  female  lies. 


She  once,  perhaps,  in  village  plenty  bless'd, 
Has  wept  at  tales  of  innocence  distressed — 
9  E 


C6   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

Her  modest  looks  tlie  cottage  might  adorn, 

Sweet  as  the  primrose  peeps  beneath  the  thorn ; 

Now  lost  to  all — her  friends,  her  virtue  fled, 

Near  her  betrayer^ s  door  she  lays  her  head — 

And,  pinch'd  with  cold,  and  shrinking  from  the  shower, 

With  heavy  heart  deplores  that  luckless  hour 

When  idly  first,  ambitious  of  the  town, 

She  left  her  wheel  and  robes  of  country  brown. 

Do  thine,  sweet  Auburn !  thine,  the  loveliest  train, 
Do  thy  fair  tribes  participate  her  pain? 
Even  now,  perhaps,  by  cold  and  hunger  led. 
At  proud  men's  doors  they  ask  a  litle  bread. 

Ah,  no  !  To  distant  climes,  a  dreary  scene. 
Where  half  the  convex  world  intrudes  between, 
Through  torrid  tracks  with  fainting  steps  they  go, 
Where  wild  Altama^  murmurs  to  their  woe. 
Far  different  there  from  all  that  charmM  before, 
The  various  terrors  of  that  horrid  shore ;  ♦ 
Those  blazing  suns  that  dart  a  downward  ray. 
And  fiercely  shed  intolerable  day — 
Those  matted  woods  where  birds  forget  to  sing, 
But  silent  bats  in  drowsy  clusters  cling — 
Those  poisonous  fields  with  rank  luxuriance  crowned,;; 
Where  the  dark  scorpion  gathers  death  around — 
Where  at  each  step  the  stranger  fears  to  wake 
The  rattling  terrors  of  the  vengeful  snake — 


*  The  river  Altamaha,  in  Georgia,  Nortti  America. 


The  Deserted  Village.  ^ 


67 


Where  crouching  tigers  wait  their  hapless  prey, 
And  savage  men  more  murderous  still  than  they — 
While  oft  in  whirls  the  mad  tornado  flies, 
Mingling  the  ravaged  landscape  with  the  skies. 
Far  different  these  from  every  former  scene; 
The  cooling  brook,  the  grassy-vested  green, 
The  breezy  covert  of  the  warbling  grove/ 
That  only  sheltered  thefts  of  harmless  love. 

Good  Heaven  !  what  sorrows  gloomed  that  parting  day. 
That  call'd  them  from  their  native  walks  away; 
When  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past. 
Hung  round  the  bowers,  and  fondly  looked  their  last — 
And  took  a  long  farewell,  and  wish'd  in  vain 
For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  western  main — 


68    Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

And,  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep, 
Return'd  and  wept,  and  still  return^!  to  weep. 
The  good  old  sire,  the  first  preparM  to  go 
To  new-found  worlds,  and  wept  for  others'  woe — 
But  for  himself,  in  conscious  virtue  brave, 
He  only  wish'd  for  worlds  beyond  the  grave. 
His  lovely  daughter,  lovelier  in  her  tears, 
The  fond  companion  of  his  helpless  years, 
Silent  went  next,  neglectful  of  her  charms, 
And  left  a  lover's  for  her  father's  arms. 
AVith  louder  plaints  the  mother  spoke  her  woes. 
And  bless' d  the  cot  where  every  pleasure  rose, 
And  kiss'd  her  thoughtless  babes  with  many  a  tear, 
And  clasp'd  them  close,  in  sorrow  doubly  dear — 
Whilst  her  fond  husband  strove  to  lend  relief 
In  all  the  silent  manliness  of  grief. 

0  luxury  !  thou  curst  by  Heaven's  decree, 
How  ill  exchanged  are  things  like  these  for  thee: 
How  do  thy  potions,  with  insidious  joy. 
Diffuse  their  pleasures  only  to  destroy  ! 
Kingdoms  by  thee,  to  sickly  greatness  grown, 
Boast  of  a  florid  vigour  not  their  own  : 
At  every  draught  more  large  and  large  they  grow, 
A  bloated  mass  of  rank  unwieldy  woe ; 
Till,  sapped  their  strength,  and  every  part  unsound, 
Down,  down  they  sink,  and  spread  a  ruin  round. 

E'en  now  the  devastation  is  begun, 

And  half  the  business  of  destruction  done; 

■  >^ 

/ 


The  Deserted  Village 


E'en  noW;  methinks,  as  pondering  here  I  stand, 
I  see  the  rural  virtues  leave  the  land. 


Down  where  yon  anchoring  vessel  spreads  the  sail 
That  idly  waiting  flaps  with  every  gale, 
Downward  they  move,  a  melancholy  band, 
Pass  from  the  shore,  and  darken  all  the  strand : 
Contented  toil,  and  hospitable  care, 
And  kind  connubial  tenderness  are  there, 
And  piety  with  wishes  placed  above. 
And  steady  loyalty,  and  faithful  love. 
And  thou,  sweet  Poetry,  thou  loveliest  maid, 
Still  first  to  fly  where  sensual  joys  invade; 
Unfit,  in  these  degenerate  times  of  shame. 
To  catch  the  heart,  or  strike  for  honest  fame : 
Dear  charming  nymph,  neglected  and  decried, 
My  shame  in  crowds,  my  solitary  pride ; 


70 


GrOLDS]MITH\S 


Poetical  Works 


Thou  source  of  all  my  bliss,  and  all  mj  woe, 
That  found' st  me  poor  at  fii'st,  and  keep'st  me  so; 
Thou  guide,  by  which  the  noble  arts  excel, 
Thou  nurse  of  every  virtue,  fare  thee  well ! 
Farewell ;  and  oh  !  where'er  thy  voice  be  tried, 
On  Torno^s  cliffs,  or  Pambamarca's  side. 
Whether  where  equinoctial  fervours  glow, 
Or  winter  wraps  the  polar  world  in  snow, 
Still  let  thy  voice,  prevailing  over  time, 
Redress  the  rigours  of  th'  inclement  clime ; 
Aid  slighted  truth  with  thy  persuasive  strain ; 
Teach  erring  man  to  spurn  the  rage  of  gain ; 
Teach  him,  that  states  of  native  strength  possessed 
Though  very  poor,  may  still  be  very  blessed ; 
That  trade's  proud  empire  hastes  to  swift  decay, 
As  ocean  sweeps  the  laboured  mole  away  ; 
While  self-dependent  power  can  time  defy, 
As  rocks  resist  the  billows  and  the  sky. 


THE 


A  POETICAL    EPISTLE  TO  LORD  CLARE. 



Thanks^  my  lord,  for  your  venison,  for  finer  or  fatter 
Never  ranged  in  a  forest,  or  smoked  in  a  platter  : 
The  haunch  was  a  picture  for  painters  to  study — 
)        The  fat  was  so  white,  and  the  lean  was  so  ruddy. 

Though  my  stomach  was  sharp,  I  could  scarce  help  re- 
gretting 

To  spoil  such  a  delicate  picture  by  eating  : 
I  had  thoughts  in  my  chamber  to  place  it  in  view, 
To  be  shown  to  my  friends  as  a  piece  of  virtu ; 
As  in  some  Irish  houses,  where  things  are  so  so. 
One  gammon  of  bacon  hangs  up  for  a  show — 
But,  for  eating  a  rasher  of  what  they  take  pride  in, 
They'd  as  soon  think  of  eating  the  pan  it  is  fried  in. 
But  hold — let  me  pause — don't  I  hear  you  pronounce 
This  tale  of  the  bacon's  a  damnable  bounce ; 
Well,  suppose  it  a  bounce — sure  a  poet  may  try 
By  a  bounce  now  and  then,  to  get  courage  to  fly. 

(11) 


72    Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

But,  my  lord,  it's  no  bounce  :  I  protest  in  my  turn, 
It's  a  truth — and  your  lordsliip  may  ask  Mr.  Byrne. ^ 
To  go  on  with  my  tale — as  I  gaz'd  on  the  haunch, 
I  thought  of  a  friend  that  was  trusty  and  staunch — 
So  I  cut  it,  and  sent  it  to  Eeynolds  undrest. 
To  paint  it,  or  eat  it,  just  as  he  lik'd  it  best. 
Of  the  neck  and  the  breast  I  had  next  to  dispose — 
^Twas  a  neck  and  a  breast  that  might  rival  Monroe's — 
But  in  parting  with  these  I  was  puzzled  again, 
With  the  how,  and  the  who,  and  the  where,  and  the  when : 
There's  Howard,  and  Coley,  and  Hogarth,  and  HifF — 
I  think  they  love  venison — I  know  they  love  beef; 
There's  my  countryman  Higgins — oh  !  let  him  alone 
For  making  a  blunder  or  picking  a  bone. 
But  hang  it — to  poets  who  seldom  can  eat, 
Your  very  good  mutton's  a  very  good  treat; 
Such  dainties  to  them  their  health  it  might  hurt. 
It's  like  sending  them  ruffles,  when  wanting  a  shirt. 
While  thus  I  debated,  in  reverie  centered. 
An  acquaintance,  a  friend  as  he  called  himself,  entered; 
An  underbred,  fine  spoken  fellow  was  he. 
And  he  smil'd  as  he  look'd  at  the  ven'son  and  me. 
^'  What  have  we  got  here  ? — Why  this  is  good  eating  ! 
Your  own  I  suppose — or  is  it  in  waiting  V 
Why  whose  should  it  be  V  cryM  I  with  a  flounce ; 
I  get  these  things  often  — but  that  was  a  bounce  : 
Some  lords,  my  acquaintance,  that  settle  the  nation, 
Are  pleas'd  to  be  kind — but  I  hate  ostentation.^' 

*  Lord  Clare's  nepbew. 


1 


The  Haunch  of  Yenison. 


73 


"  If  that  be  the  case  then/'  cried  he,  very  gay, 
Tm  glad  I  have  taken  this  house  in  my  way. 
To-morrow  you  take  a  poor  dinner  with  me : 
No  words — I  insist  on't — precisely  at  three. 
We^U  have  Johnson  and  Burke;  all  the  wits  will  be  there; 
My  acquaintance  is  slight,  or  I'd  ask  my  lord  Clare. 
And  now  that  I  think  on't,  as  I  am  a  sinner ! 
We  wanted  this  venison  to  make  out  the  dinner. 
What  say  you — a  pasty,  it  shall,  and  it  must, 
And  my  wife,  little  Kitty,  is  famous  for  crust. 
Here,  porter — this  venison  with  me  to  Mile-end ; 
No  stirring,  I  beg — my  dear  friend — my  dear  friend  V 
Thus  snatching  his  hat,  he  brushM  off  like  the  wind, 
And  the  porter  and  eatables  followed  behind. 

Left  alone  to  reflect,  having  emptied  my  shelf, 
And    nobody  with  me  at  sea  but  myself,^' 
Though  I  could  not  help  thinking  my  gentleman  hasty, 
Yet  Johnson,  and  Burke,  and  a  good  venison  pasty, 
Were  things  that  I  never  disliked  in  my  life — 
Though  clogg'd  with  a  coxcomb,  and  Kitty  his  wife; 
So  next  day  in  due  splendour  to  make  my  approach, 
I  drove  to  his  door  in  my  own  hackney  coach. 

When  come  to  the  place  where  we  all  were  to  dine — 
A  chair-lumber' d  closet  just  twelve  feet  by  nine— 
My  friend  bade  me  welcome,  but  struck  me  quite  dumb 
With  tidings  that  Johnson  and  Burke  could  not  come; 

For  I  knew  it,''  he  cried,    both  eternally  fail, 
The  one  with  his  speeches,  and  t'other  with  Thrale ; 
10 


74   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


But  no  matter,  I'll  warrant  we'll  make  up  the  party, 
With  two  full  as  clever,  and  ten  times  as  hearty. 
The  one  is  a  Scotchman,  and  the  other  a  Jew, 
They're  both  of  them  merry,  and  authors  like  you ; 
The  one  writes  the  Snarler,  the  other  the  Scourge; 
Some  think  he  writes  Cinna — he  owns  to  Panurge/' 
While  thus  he  described  them  by  trade  and  by  name, 
They  enter' d,  and  dinner  was  serVd  as  they  came. 

At  the  top  a  fried  liver  and  bacon  were  seen, 
At  the  bottom  was  tripe,  in  a  swinging  tureen ; 
At  the  sides  there  were  spinach  and  pudding  made  hot 
In  the  middle  a  place  were  the  pasty — was  not. 
Now,  my  lord,  as  for  tripe,  it's  my  utter  aversion, 
And  your  bacon  I  hate  like  a  Turk  or  a  Persian ; 
So  there  I  sat  struck  like  a  horse  in  a  pound. 
While  the  bacon  and  liver  went  merrily  round. 
But  what  vex'd  me  most,  was  that  damn'd  Scottish  rogue 
With  his  long-winded  speeches,  his  smiles,  and  his  brogue 
And,  "  Madam,"  quoth  he,    may  this  bit  be  my  poison 
A  prettier  dinner  I  never  set  eyes  on ; 
Pray  a  slice  of  your  liver,  though  may  I  be  curst, 
But  I've  eat  of  your  tripe  till  I'm  ready  to  burst." 

The  tripe,"  quoth  the  Jew,  with  his  chocolate  cheek, 
*^I  could  dine  on  this  tripe  seven  days  in  a  week  : 
I  like  these  here  dinners  so  pretty  and  small — 
But  your  friend  there,  the  doctor,  eats  nothing  at  all." 

Oh — oh  !"  quoth  my  friend,    he'll  come  in  a  trice, 
He's  keeping  a  corner  for  something  that's  nice : 


The  Haunch  of  Venison 


75 


There's  a  pasty" — "  A  pasty  V  repeated  the  Jew; 

I  don't  care  if  I  keep  a  corner  for't  too.'' 

What  the  de'il,  mon,  a  pasty  !"  re-echo'd  the  Scot; 

Though  splitting,  I'll  still  keep  a  comer  for  that." 

We'll  all  keep  a  corner/'  the  lady  cried  out ; 

We'll  all  keep  a  corner/'  was  echoed  about. 
While  thus  we  resolv'd,  and  the  pasty  delay' d, 
With  looks  that  quite  petrified,  enter'd  the  maid; 
A  visage  so  sad,  and  so  pale  with  affright, 
Wak'd  Priam,  in  drawing  his  curtains  by  night. 
But  we  quickly  found  out — for  who  could  mistake  her — 
That  she  came  with  some  terrible  news  from  the  baker; 
And  so  it  fell  out,  for  that  negligent  sloven 
Had  shut  out  the  pasty  on  shutting  his  oven. 
Sad  Philomel  thus — ^but  let  similes  drop — 
And  now  that  I  think  on't  the  story  may  stop. 
To  be  plain,  my  good  lord,  it's  but  labour  misplac'd, 
To  send  such  good  verses  to  one  of  your  taste. 
You've  got  an  odd  something — a  kind  of  discerning — 
A  relish,  a  taste,  sicken' d  over  by  learning — 
At  least  it's  your  temper,  as  very  well  known, 
That  you  think  very  slightly  of  all  that's  your  own: 
So,  perhaps,  in  your  habits  of  thinking  amiss, 
You  may  make  a  mistake,  and  think  slightly  of  this. 


Br.  Goldsmith  and  some  of  his  friends  occasionally  dined  at  the 
St.  James's  Coffee-house.  One  day  it  was  proposed  to  write  epi- 
taphs on  him.  His  country,  dialect,  and  person,  furnished  subjects 
of  witticism.  He  was  called  on  for  Retaliation,  and,  at  their  next 
meeting,  produced  the  following  poem.  At  the  former  of  these 
meetings,  as  we  learn  from  Cumberland,  the  party  consisted  of  Dr. 
Barnard,  Dean  of  Derry,  Dr.  Douglas,  Johnson,  Garrick,  Goldsmith, 
Edmund  and  Eichard  Burke,  Hickey,  and  Cumberland,  with  two  or 
three  others.  One  of  the  company  having  suggested  the  idea  of 
writing  extemporary  epitaphs  upon  the  parties  present,  Garrick 
wrote  oflf-hand  some  very  humorous  verses  on  Goldsmith,  who  was 
the  first  in  jest,  as  he  proved  to  be  in  reality,  that  they  consigned  to 
the  grave.  The  Dean  also  gave  him  an  epitaph,  and  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  illuminated  the  Dean's  verses  with  a  sketch  of  his  bust,  in 
pen  and  ink,  inimitably  caricatured.  Neither  Johnson  nor  Burke 
"wrote  anything,  and  Cumberland's  verses  were  entirely  compli- 
mentary. Goldsmith,  it  seems,  felt  somewhat  sore  at  the  jests  of 
which  he  had  been  made  the  subject;  and  it  was  for  the  purpose  of 
restoring  his  good  humour,  that  his  companions  insisted  upon  his 
retaliating. 

Of  old,  when  Scarron  his  companions  invited, 
Each  guest  brought  his  dish,  and  the  feast  was  united; 
If  our  landlord  supplies  us  with  beef  and  with  fish, 
Let  each  guest  bring  himself — ^and  he  brings  the  best  dish : 

(76) 


Eetaliation.  77 

Our  dean'  shall  be  venison,  just  fresh  from  the  plains ; 
Our  Burke^  shall  be  tongue,  with  the  garnish  of  brains ; 
Our  WilP  shall  be  wild  fowl,  of  excellent  flavour — 
And  Dick*  with  his  pepper  shall  heighten  their  savour; 
Our  Cumberland's^  sweet  bread  its  place  shall  obtain; 
And  Douglas  is^  pudding,  substantial  and  plain; 
Our  G-arrick^s^  a  salad — for  in  him  we  see 
Oil,  vinegar,  sugar,  and  saltness  agree; 
To  make  out  the  dinner,  full  certain  I  am, 
That  Kidge^  is  anchovy,*  and  Keynolds  is  lamb ; 
That  Hickey's^°  a  capon,  and,  by  the  same  rule, 
Magnanimous  Goldsmith,  a  gooseberry  fool. 
At  a  dinner  so  various,  at  such  a  repast, 
Who'd  not  be  a  glutton,  and  stick  to  the  last  ? 
Here,  waiter,  more  wine,  let  me  sit  while  Tm  able, 
Till  all  my  companions  sink  under  the  table ; 

*  Dr.  Thomas  Barnard,  Dean  of  Derry  in  Ireland,  afterwards 
Bishop  of  Limerick ;  he  died  in  1806. 

^  Edmund  Burke,  the  eminent  statesman,  orator,  and  writer;  he 
died  in  1797. 

'  William  Burke,  a  kinsman  of  Edmund^  memher  for  Bedwin ; 
he  died  in  1798. 

*  Richard  Burke,  younger  brother  of  Edmund ;  he  died  Recorder 
of  Bristol  in  1794. 

*  Richard  Cumberland,  author  of  the  West  Indian,  and  other 
dramatic  pieces;  he  died  in  1811. 

*  John  Douglas,  Canon  of  Windsor,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Salis- 
bury ;  he  died  in  1807. 

'  David  Garrick,  the  incomparable  actor ;  he  died  in  1779. 
^  John  Ridge,  a  member  of  the  Irish  bar. 
®  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  the  eminent  painter;  he  died  in  1792. 
»  Thomas  Hickey,  an  eminent  attorney ;  he  died  in  1794, 


• 


78    Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

Then,  with  chaos  and  blunders  encircling  my  head, 
Let  me  ponder — and  tell  what  I  think  of  the  dead. 

Here  lies  the  good  dean,  re-nnited  to  earth. 
Who  mixt  reason  with  pleasure,  and  wisdom  with  mirth  : 
If  he  had  any  faults,  he  has  left  us  in  doubt — 
At  least,  in  six  weeks,  I  could  not  find  them  out ; 
Yet  some  have  declarM,  and  it  can't  be  denied  'em, 
That  sly-boots  was  cursedly  cunning  to  hide  'em. 

Here  lies  our  good  Edmund,  whose  genius  was  such, 
We  scarcely  can  praise  it,  or  blame  it  too  much ; 
Who,  born  for  the  universe,  narrow' d  his  mind, 
And  to  party  gave  up  what  was  meant  for  mankind. 
Though  fraught  with  all  learning,  yet  straining  his  throat 
To  persuade  Tommy  Townshend*  to  lend  him  a  vote ; 
Who,  too  deep  for  his  hearers,  still  went  on  refining. 
And  thought  of  convincing,  while  they  thought  of  dining. 
Though  equal  to  all  things,  for  all  things  unfit : 
Too  nice  for  a  statesman,  too  proud  for  a  wit; 
For  a  patriot  too  cool ;  for  a  drudge  disobedient ; 
And  too  fond  of  the  right  to  pursue  the  expedient. 
In  short,  'twas  his  fate,  unemploy'd,  or  in  place,  sir — 
To  eat  mutton  cold,  and  cut  blocks  with  a  razor. 

Here  lies  honest  William,  whose  heart  was  a  mint, 
While  the  owner  ne'er  knew  half  the  good  that  was  in't : 
The  pupil  of  impulse,  it  forc'd  him  along. 
His  conduct  still  right,  with  his  argument  wrong; 

*  Mr,  T.  Townshend,  Member  for  Whitchurch. 


Retaliation. 


79 


Still  aiming  at  honour,  yet  fearing  to  roam — 
The  coachman  was  tipsy,  the  chariot  drove  home ; 
Would  you  ask  for  his  merits  ?  alas  !  he  had  none ; 
What  was  good  was  spjontaneous,  his  faults  were  his  own. 

Here  lies  honest  Richard/  whose  fate  I  must  sigh  at; 
Alas !  that  such  frolic  should  now  be  so  quiet. 
What  spirits  were  his  !  what  wit  and  what  whim ! 
Now  breaking  a  jest,  and  now  breaking  a  limb ; 
Now  wrangling  and  grumbling  to  keep  up  the  ball ; 
Now  teazing  and  vexing,  yet  laughing  at  all ! 
In  short,  so  provoking  a  devil  was  Dick, 
That  we  wishM  him  full  ten  times  a  day  at  Old  Nick ; 
But,  missing  his  mirth  and  agreeable  vein. 
As  often  we  wished  to  have  Dick  back  again. 

Here  Cumberland  lies,  having  acted  his  parts, 
The  Terence  of  England,  the  mender  of  hearts  ; 
A  flattering  painter,  who  made  it  his  care 
To  draw  men  as  they  ought  to  be,  not  as  they  are. 
His  gallants  are  all  faultless,  his  women  divine^ 
And  comedy  wonders  at  being  so  fine ; 
Like  a  tragedy  queen  he  has  dizenM  her  out — 
Or  rather  like  tragedy  given  a  rout. 
His  fools  have  their  follies  so  lost  in  a  crowd 
Of  virtues  and  feelings,  that  folly  grows  proud ; 

*  Mr.  Ricliard  Burke;  he  fractured  one  of  his  arms  and  legs  at 
different  times ;  the  Doctor  has  rallied  him  on  these  accidents,  as  a 
kind  of  retributive  justice  for  breaking  his  jests  upon  other  people. 


fl 


80   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

And  coxcombs,  alike  in  their  failings  alone, 
Adopting  his  portraits,  are  pleas' d  with  their  own. 
Say,  where  has  our  poet  this  malady  caught  ? 
Or  wherefore  his  characters  thus  without  fault  ? 
Say,  was  it  that  vainly  directing  his  view 
To  find  out  men's  virtues,  and  finding  them  few, 
'  Quite  sick  of  pursuing  each  troublesome  elf. 
He  grew  lazy  at  last — and  drew  from  himself  ? 

Here  Douglas  retires  from  his  toils  to  relax — 
The  scourge  of  impostors,  the  terror  of  quacks : 
Come,  all  ye  quack  bards,  and  ye  quacking  divines ; 
Come,  and  dance  on  the  spot  where  your  tyrant  reclines  ! 
When  satire  and  censure  encircled  his  throne, 
I  fear'd  for  your  safety- — I  fear'd  for  my  own. 
But  now  he  is  gone,  and  we  want  a  detector. 
Our  Dodds^  shall  be  pious,  our  Kenricks^  shall  lecture — 
Macpherson^  write  bombast,  and  call  it  a  style — 
Our  Townshend  make  speeches,  and  I  shall  compile ; 
New  Landers  and  Bowers  the  Tweed  shall  cross  over, 
No  countryman  living  their  tricks  to  discover ; 
Detection  her  taper  shall  quench  to  a  spark, 
And  Scotchman  meet  Scotchman,  and  cheat  in  the  dark. 

Here  lies  David  Garrick — describe  me  who  can, 
An  abridgment  of  all  that  was  pleasant  in  man ; 

»  The  Eev.  Dr.  Dodd. 

^  Dr.  William  Kenrick,  who  read  lectures  at  the  Devil  tavern, 
under  the  title  of"  The  School  of  Shakspeare." 

^  James  Macpherson,  who  had  lately  published  a  worthless 
translation  of  the  Iliad  of  Homer. 


Retaliation. 


81 


As  an  actor^  confessed  without  rival  to  shine ; 

As  a  wit,  if  not  first,  in  the  very  first  line ; 

Yet;  with  talents  like  these,  and  an  excellent  heart, 

The  man  had  his  failings — a  dupe  to  his  art. 

Like  an  ill-judging  beauty,  his  colours  he  spread, 

And  beplaster'd  with  rouge  his  own  natural  red. 

On  the  stage  he  was  natural,  simple,  afiecting ; 

'Twas  only  that  when  he  was  ofi*,  he  was  acting. 

With  no  reason  on  earth  to  go  out  of  his  way, 

He  turned  and  he  varied  full  ten  times  a  day : 

Though  secure  of  our  hearts,  yet  confoundedly  sick. 

If  they  were  not  his  own  by  finessing  and  trick  : 

He  cast  ofi"  his  friends,  as  a  huntsman  his  pack, 

For  he  knew  when  he  pleased  he  could  whistle  them  back. 

Of  praise  a  mere  glutton,  he  swallowed  what  came, 

And  the  puff  of  a  dance  he  mistook  it  for  fame : 

Till  his  relish  grown  callous,  almost  to  disease. 

Who  pepper' d  the  highest,  was  surest  to  please. 

But  let  us  be  candid,  and  speak  out  our  mind. 

If  dunces  applauded,  he  paid  them  in  kind. 

Ye  Kenricks,^  ye  Kelly s,^  and  Woodfalls^  so  grave, 

What  a  commerce  was  yours,  while  you  got  and  you  gave  ? 

How  did  Grub  Street  re-echo  the  shouts  that  you  raised 

While  he  was  be-RosciusM,  and  you  were  be-prais'd  ? 

*  Dr.  William  Kenrick,  a  reviewer,  noted  for  his  bitterness.  He 
was  the  author  of  the  letter  on  '  The  Hermit/  in  the  St.  James's 
Chronicle. 

2  Mr.  Hugh  Kelly,  author  of  '  False  Delicacy/  'Word  to  the  Wise/ 
Clementina/  *  School  for  Wives/  &c.,  &c. 
»  Mr.  William  Woodfall,  editor  of  the  Morning  Chronicle. 
11  F 


82 


Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


But  peace  to  his  spirit,  wherever  it  flies, 

To  act  as  an  angel  and  mix  with  the  skies : 

Those  poets,  who  owe  their  best  fame  to  his  skill,  , 

Shall  still  be  his  flatterers,  go  where  you  will, 

Old  Shakspeare  receive  him  with  praise  and  with  love, 

And  Beaumonts  and  Bens  be  his  Kellys  above.* 

*  The  following  lines  by  Mr.  Garrick,  may,  in  some  measure, 
account  for  the  severity  exercised  by  Dr.  Goldsmith,  in  respect  to 
that  gentleman : — 

JUPITER  AND  MERCFRY.     A  FABLE. 

Here  Hermes,  says  Jove,  who  with  nectar  was  mellow, 

Go  fetch  me  some  clay — I  will  make  an  odd  fellow ; 

Right  and  wrong  shall  be  jumbled, — much  gold  and  some  dross ; 

"Without  cause  be  he  pleas'd,  without  cause  be  he  cross  : 

Be  sure,  as  I  work,  to  throw  in  contradictions, 

A  great  love  of  truth,  yet  a  mind  turned  to  fictions  ! 

Now  mix  these  ingredients,  which  warm'd  in  the  baking, 

Turn'd  to  learning  and  gaming,  religion  and  raking. 

With  the  love  of  a  wench,  let  his  writings  be  chaste  ; 

Tip  his  tongue  with  strange  matter,  his  pen  with  fine  taste ; 

That  the  rake  and  the  poet  o'er  all  may  prevail. 

Set  fire  to  the  head,  and  set  fire  to  the  tail : 

For  the  joy  of  each  sex,  on  the  world  Til  bestow  it, 

This  scholar,  rake.  Christian,  dupe,  gamester,  and  poet; 

Though  a  mixture  so  odd,  he  shall  merit  great  fame. 

And  among  brother  mortals — be  Goldsmith  his  name ; 

When  on  earth  this  strange  meteor  no  more  shall  appear. 

You  Hermes,  shall  fetch  him — to  make  us  sport  here. 

ON  DR.  goldsmith's  characteristical  cookery,   a  jeu  d'esprit. 

Are  these  the  choice  dishes  the  doctor  has  sent  us  ? 
Is  this  the  great  poet  whose  works  so  content  us  ? 
This  Goldsmith's  fine  feast,  who  has  written  fine  books  ? 
Heaven  sends  us  good  meat,  but  the  devil  sends  cooks. 


Retaliation 


83 


Here  Hickey  reclines,  a  most  "blunt,  pleasant  creature. 
And  slander  itself  must  allow  him  good  nature ; 
He  cherished  his  friends,  and  he  relish^  a  bumper, 
Yet  one  fault  he  had,  and  that  was  a  thumper. 
Perhaps  you  may  ask  if  the  man  was  a  miser : 
I  answer,  no,  no — for  he  always  was  wiser : 
Too  courteous,  perhaps,  or  obligingly  flat  ? 
His  very  worst  foe  can't  accuse  him  of  that : 
Perhaps  he  confided  in  men  as  they  go, 
And  so  was  too  foolishly  honest? — ah  no ! 
Then  what  was  his  failing  ?  come,  tell  it,  and  burn  ye, — > 
He  was,  could  he  help  it  ? — a  special  attorney. 

Here  Reynolds  is  laid,  and,  to  tell  you  my  mind, 
He  has  not  left  a  wiser  or  better  behind ; 
His  pencil  was  striking,  resistless,  and  grand ; 
His  manners  were  gentle,  complying,  and  bland ; 
Still  born  to  improve  us  in  every  part. 
His  pencil  our  faces,  his  manners  our  heart ; 
To  coxcombs  averse,  yet  most  civilly  steering, 
When  they  judged  without  skill  he  was  still  hard  of 
hearing : 

When  they  talked  of  their  Raphaels,  Correggios,  and  stuff, 
He  shifted  his  trumpet,^  and  only  took  snuff. 

*  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  was  so  remarkably  deaf  as  to  be  under  the 
necessity  of  using  an  ear-trumpet  in  company. 


After  the  fourth  edition  of  this  poem  "was  printed,  the  publisher 
received  the  following  epitaph  on  Mr.  Whitefoord,^  from  a  friend 
of  the  late  Doctor  Goldsmith. 

 •  ' 

Here  Whitefoord  reclines^  and  deny  it  who  can, 
Though  he  merrily  liv'd,  he  is  now  a  grave^  man : 
Rare  compound  of  oddity,  frolic  and  fun ! 
"Who  relished  a  joke,  and  rejoic'd  in  a  pun; 
Whose  temper  was  generous,  open,  sincere ; 
A  stranger  to  flattery,  a  stranger  to  fear; 
Who  scattered  around  wit  and  humour  at  will; 
W^hose  daily  hon  mots  half  a  column  might  fill : 
A  Scotchman,  from  pride  and  from  predjudice  free; 
A  scholar,  yet  surely  no  pedant  was  he. 

What  pity,  alas  !  that  so  liberal  a  mind 
Should  so  long  be  to  newspaper  essays  confin'd ! 
Who  perhaps  to  the  summit  of  science  could  soar^ 
Yet  content  '  if  the  table  he  set  in  a  roar  / 


*  Mr.  Caleb  Whitefoord,  author  of  many  humorous  essays. 

^  Mr.  W.  was  so  notorious  a  punster,  that  Doctor  Goldsmith  used 
to  say  it  was  impossible  to  keep  him  company,  without  being  affectef' 
with  the  itch  of  punning. 

(84) 


Postscript.  85 

Whose  talents  to  fill  any  station  were  fit. 
Yet  happy  if  WoodfalP  confessed  him  a  wit. 

Ye  newspaper  witlings !  ye  pert  scribbling  folks ! 
Who  copied  his  squibS;  and  re-echoed  his  jokes; 
Ye  tame  imitators^  ye  servile  herd,  come, 
Still  follow  your  master,  and  visit  his  tomb : 
To  deck  it,  bring  with  you  festoons  of  the  vine, 
And  copious  libations  bestow  on  his  shrine ; 
Then  strew  all  around  it  (you  can  do  no  less) 
Cross  reading Sj^  ship  newsj  and  mistakes  of  the  press. 

Merry  Whitefoord,  farewell !  for  thy  sake  I  admit 
That  a  Scot  may  have  humour,  Fd  almost  said  wit : 
This  debt  to  thy  memory  I  cannot  refuse, 
'^Thou  best  humoured  man  with  the  worst  humourM 
muse/' 

*  M.  H.  S.  Woodfall,  printer  of  the  Public  Advertiser. 

*  Mr.  W^hitefoord  has  frequently  indulged  the  town  with  humor- 
ous pieces  under  those  titles  in  the  Public  Advertiser. 


a  IStnutifttl  f  nung  ^.&u  $Uu 
%iiul  ^  iCiglitttiitg. 


IMITATED   FROM   THE  SPANISH. 

Sure  'twas  by  providence  designed, 

Eather  in  pity  than  in  hate, 
That  he  should  be,  like  Cupid,  blind, 
To  save  him  from  Narcissus'  fate. 
(  86  ) 


A  BALLAB. 


LETTER 
to  the  printer  op  the  st.  james's  chronicle. 
Sir, 

As  there  is  nothing  I  dislike  so  much  as  newspaper  controversy, 
particularly  upon  trifles,  permit  mo  to  be  as  concise  as  possible  in 
informing  a  correspondent  of  yours,  that  I  recommended  Blainville's 
Travels,  because  I  thought  the  book  was  a  good  one  j  and  I  think 
80  still.  I  said,  I  was  told  by  the  bookseller  that  it  was  then  first 
-  published ;  but  in  that,  it  seems,  I  was  misinformed,  and  my  reading 
was  not  extensive  enough  to  set  me  right. 

Another  correspondent  of  yours  accuses  me  of  having  taken  a 
ballad,  I  published  some  time  ago,  from  one*  by  the  ingenious  Mr. 
Percy.  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  great  resemblance  between  the 
two  pieces  in  question.  If  there  be  any,  his  ballad  is  taken  from 
mine.  I  read  it  to  Mr.  Percy  some  years  ago ;  and  he  (as  we  both 
considered  these  things  as  trifles  at  best)  told  me,  with  his  usual 
good  humour,  the  next  time  I  saw  him,  that  he  had  taken  my  plan 
to  form  the  fragments  of  Shakspeare  into  a  ballad  of  his  own.  He 
then  read  me  his  little  Cento,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  and  I  highly  ap- 
proved it.  Such  petty  anecdotes  as  these  are  scarce  worth  printing ; 
and  were  it  not  for  the  busy  disposition  of  some  of  your  corres- 
pondents, the  public  should  never  have  known  that  he  owes  me  the 
hint  of  his  ballad,  or  that  I  am  obliged  to  his  friendship  and  learn- 
ing, for  communications  of  a  much  more  important  nature. 

I  am,  Sir,  Yours,  <fec., 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 
*  "  The  Friar  of  Orders  Gray."   Bdiq.  ofAnc.  Poetry,  vol.  i.,  p.  243. 

(87) 


Turn,  gentle  Hermit  of  the  dale, 
And  guide  my  lonely  way 
To  where  yon  taper  cheers  the  vale 
With  hospitable  ray. 

(88) 


The  Hermit. 


For  here,  forlorn  and  lost,  I  tread 
With  fainting  steps  and  slow — 
Where  wilds,  immeasurably  spread, 
Seem  lengthening  as  I  go/' 

"  Forbear,  my  son,''  the  Hermit  cries, 
"  To  tempt  the  dangerous  gloom  ; 

For  yonder  faithless  phantom  flies 
To  lure  thee  to  thy  doom. 

^'  Here,  to  the  houseless  child  of  want 

My  door  is  open  still; 
And,  though  my  portion  is  but  scant, 

I  give  it  with  good  will. 

Then  turn  to-night,  and  freely  share 
Whatever  my  cell  bestows — 
My  rushy  couch  and  frugal  fare, 
My  blessing  and  repose. 

"  No  flocks  that  range  the  valley  free 

To  slaughter  I  condemn — 
Taught  by  that  power  that  pities  me, 

I  learn  to  pity  them ; 

"  But,  from  the  mountain's  grassy  side 

A  guiltless  feast  I  bring — 
A  scrip  with  herbs  and  fruits  supplied, 

And  water  from  the  spring. 


90   GoLDSMiTH^s  Poetical  Works. 


Then,  pilgrim,  turn,  thy  cares  forego ; 
All  earth-born  cares  are  wrong : 
Man  wants  but  little  here  below, 
Nor  wants  that  little  long." 

Soft  as  the  dew  from  heaven  descends. 

His  gentle  accents  fell  j 
The  modest  stranger  lowly  bends, 

And  follows  to  the  cell. 

Far  in  a  wilderness  obscure, 

The  lonely  mansion  lay ; 
A  refuge  to  the  neighbouring  poor, 

And  strangers  led  astray. 

No  stores  beneath  its  humble  thatch 

Required  a  master's  care ; 
The  wicket,  opening  with  a  latch, 

KeceiVd  the  harmless  pair. 

And  now,  when  busy  crowds  retire 

To  take  their  evening  rest. 
The  Hermit  trimmed  his  little  fire, 

And  cheer'd  his  pensive  guest ; 

And  spread  his  vegetable  store. 
And  gaily  pressM,  and  smiled; 

And,  skiird  in  legendary  lore. 
The  lingering  hours  beguiled. 


The  Hermit. 


Around,  in  sympatlietic  mirth 

Its  tricks  the  kitten  tries, — 
The  cricket  chirrups  in  the  hearth, 

The  crackling  faggot  flies. 

But  nothing  could  a  charm  impart 
To  soothe  the  stranger's  woe — 
For  grief  was  heavy  at  his  heart, 
•  And  tears  began  to  flow. 

His  rising  cares  the  hermit  spied — 
With  answering  care  oppressed : 
And  whence,  unhappy  youth,''  he  cried, 
"  The  sorrows  of  thy  breast  ? 

"  From  better  habitations  spurn' d, 

Reluctant  dost  thou  rove  ? 
Or  grieve  for  friendship  unreturn'd, 

Or  unregarded  love  ? 

"  Alas  !  the  joys  that  fortune  brings 

Are  trifling,  and  decay — 
And  those  who  prize  the  paltry  things. 

More  trifling  still  than  they ; 

"  And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 
A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep — 

A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame. 
And  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep  ? 


92   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


And  lov^e  is  still  an  emptier  sound — 
The  modern  fair  one^s  jest; 
On  earth  unseen,  or  only  found 
To  warm  the  turtle's  nest. 

"  For  shame,  fond  youth,  thy  sorrows  hush — 

And  spurn  the  sex/'  he  said ; 
But,  while  he  spoke,  a  rising  blush 

His  love-lorn  guest  betray' d ; 

Surprised,  he  sees  new  beauties  rise, 

Swift  mantling  to  the  view — 
Like  colours  o'er  the  morning  skies, 

As  bright,  as  transient  too. 

The  bashful  look,  the  rising  breast, 

Alternate  spread  alarms : 
The  lovely  stranger  stands  confest, 

A  maid  in  all  her  charms. 

"  And,  ah !  forgive  a  stranger  rude, 
A  wretch  forlorn,"  she  cried — 
Whose  feet  unhallow'd  thus  intrude 
Where  heaven  and  you  reside ; 

But  let  a  maid  thy  pity  share, 
Whom  love  has  taught  to  stray — 
Who  seeks  for  rest,  but  finds  despair 
Companion  of  her  way. 


The  Hermit. 


"  My  father  liv'd  beside  the  Tyne — 

A  wealthy  lord  was  he; 
And  all  his  wealth  was  marked  as  mine 

He  had  but  only  me. 

To  win  me  from  his  tender  arms 
Unnumber'd  suitors  came; 
Who  praised  me  for  imputed  charmS; 
And  felt  or  feignM  a  flame. 

"  Each  hour  a  mercenary  crowd 
With  richest  proffers  strove ; 

Among  the  rest  young  Edwin  bow'd — 
But  never  talked  of  love. 

In  humble,  simplest  habit  clad, 
No  wealth  or  pow'r  had  he ; 
Wisdom  and  worth  were  all  he  had, 
But  these  were  all  to  me. 

And  when  beside  me  in  the  dale 
He  caroird  lays  of  love  ; 
His  breath  lent  fragrance  to  the  gale, 
And  music  to  the  grove. 

The  blossom  opening  to  the  day, 
The  dews  of  heaven  refined, 
Could  nought  of  purity  display 
To  emulate  his  mind; 


94   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Wo]||ks. 

"  The  dew,  the  blossoms  of  the  tree, 
With  charms  inconstant  shine ; 

Their  charms  were  his ;  but,  woe  to  me, 
Their  constancy  was  mine. 

For  still  I  tried  each  fickle  art, 
Importunate  and  vain ; 
And  while  his  passion  touch' d  my  heart, 
I  triumph'd  in  his  pain. 

Till,  quite  dejected  with  my  scorn, 
He  left  me  to  my  pride ; 
And  sought  a  solitude  forlorn 
In  secret,  where  he  died. 

"  But  mine  the  sorrow,  mine  the  fault, 
And  well  my  life  shall  pay ; 

I'll  seek  the  solitude  he  sought, 
And  stretch  me  where  he  lay. 

And  there,  forlorn,  despairing,  hid — 
I'll  lay  me  down  and  die ; 
'Twas  so  for  me  that  Edwin  did. 
And  so  for  him  will  I.'' 

"  Forbid  it,  heaven  !"  the  hermit  cried. 
And  clasp'd  her  to  his  breast : 

The  wondering  fair  one  turn'd  to  chide — 
^Twas  Edwin's  self  that  prest. 


The  Hermit, 


"  Turn,  Angelina,  ever  dear — 

My  charmer  turn  to  see 
Thy  own,  thy  long  lost  Edwin  here, 

Restored  to  love  and  thee. 

"  Thus  let  me  hold  thee  to  my  heart, 

And  every  care  resign ; 
And  shall  we  never,  never  part, 

My  life — my  all  that^s  mine ! 

"  No ;  never,  from  this  hour  to  part, 
We'll  live  and  love  so  true : 

The  sigh  that  rends  thy  constant  hearty 
Shall  break  thy  Edwin's  too.'' 


THE 


A  TALE. 
 »  

Secluded  from  domestic  strife, 
Jack  Bookworm  led  a  college  life ; 
A  fellowship,  at  twenty-five, 
Made  him  the  happiest  man  alive; 
He  drank  his  glass,  and  crack' d  his  joke, 
And  freshmen  wondered  as  he  spoke. 

Such  pleasures,  unallajM  with  care, 
Could  any  accident  impair  ? 
Could  Cupid's  shaft  at  length  transfix 
Our  swain,  arrived  at  thirty-six  ? 
0  had  the  archer  ne'er  come  down 
To  ravage  in  a  country  town ; 
Or  riavia  been  content  to  stop 
At  triumphs  in  a  Fleet-street  shop. 
0  had  her  eyes  forgot  to  blaze ! 
Or  Jack  had  wanted  eyes  to  gaze. 
(96) 


The  Double  Transformation.  97 


O  !  But  let  exclamation  cease ; 

Her  presence  banished  all  his  peace  : 

So  with  decorum  all  things  carried, 

Miss  froWd  and  blush' d,  and  then  was — married. 

Need  we  expose  to  vulgar  sight 
The  raptures  of  the  bridal  night  ? 
Need  we  intrude  on  hallo Vd  ground, 
Or  draw  the  curtains  clos'd  around  ? 
Let  it  suffice,  that  each  had  charms  : 
He  clasped  a  goddess  in  his  arms ; 
And,  though  she  felt  his  usage  rough, 
Yet  in  a  man  'twas  well  enough. 

The  honey-moon  like  lightning  flew ; 
The  second  brought  its  transports  too : 
A  third,  a  fourth,  were  not  amiss ; 
The  fifth  was  friendship  mix'd  with  bliss  3 
But,  when  a  twelvemonth  past  away. 
Jack  found  his  goddess  made  of  clay; 
Found  half  the  charms  that  decked  her  face 
Arose  from  powder,  shreds,  or  lace ; 
But  still  the  worst  remained  behind — 
That  very  face  had  robb'd  her  mind. 

SkilFd  in  no  other  arts  was  she 
But  dressing,  patching,  repartee ; 
And,  just  as  humour  rose  or  fell, 
By  turns  a  slattern  or  a  belle. 

18  G 


98   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


'Tis  tnie,  she  dress' d  with  modern  grace — 

Half-naked  at  a  ball  or  race ; 

But  when  at  home,  at  board  or  bed, 

Five  greasy  night-caps  wrappM  her  head. 

Could  so  much  beauty  condescend 

To  be  a  dull  domestic  friend  ? 

Could  any  curtain  lectures  bring 

To  decency  so  fine  a  thing  ? 

In  short — by  night,  'twas  fits  or  fretting — 

By  day,  'twas  gadding  or  coquetting. 


Fond  to  be  seen,  she  kept  a  bevy 
Of  powder'd  coxcombs  at  her  levee ; 


The  Double  Transformation 

The  'squire  and  captain  took  their  stations. 

And  twenty  other  near  relations. 

Jack  suckM  his  pipe,  and  often  broke 

A  sigh  in  suffocating  smoke ; 

While  all  their  hours  were  passed  between 

Insulting  repartee  or  spleen. 

Thus,  as  her  faults  each  day  were  known, 
He  thinks  her  features  coarser  grown : 
He  fancies  every  vice  she  shows. 
Or  thins  her  lip,  or  points  her  nose; 
Whenever  rage  or  envy  rise. 
How  wide  her  mouth,  how  wild  her  eyes ! 
He  knows  not  how,  but  so  it  is. 
Her  face  is  grown  a  knowing  phiz; 
And,  though  her  fops  are  wond^rous  civil; 
He  thinks  her  ugly  as  the  devil. 

Now,  to  perplex  the  ravelFd  noose, 
As  each  a  different  way  pursues — 
While  sullen  or  loquacious  strife 
PromisM  to  hold  them  on  for  life — 
That  dire  disease,  whose  ruthless  power 
Withers  the  beauty's  transient  flower — 
Lo !  the  small-pox,  whose  horrid  glare 
Leveled  its  terrors  at  the  fair ; 
And,  rifling  every  youthful  grace. 
Left  but  the  remnant  of  a  face. 


100  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

The  glass,  grown  hateful  to  her  sight, 
Ereflected  now  a  perfect  fright. 
Each  former  art  she  vainly  tries 
To  bring  back  lustre  to  her  eyes ; 
In  vain  she  tries  her  paste  and  creams 
To  smooth  her  skin,  or  hide  its  seams : 
Her  country  beaux  and  city  cousins, 
Lovers  no  more,  flew  off  by  dozens ; 
The  'squire  himself  was  seen  to  yield, 
And  even  the  captain  quit  the  field. 

Poor  madam,  now  condemned  to  hack 
The  rest  of  life  with  anxious  Jack, 
Perceiving  others  fairly  flown, 
Attempted  pleasing  him  alone. 
Jack  soon  was  dazzled  to  behold 
Her  present  face  surpass  the  old. 
With  modesty  her  cheeks  are  dy'd ; 
Humility  displaces  pride ; 
For  tawdry  finery  is  seen 
A  person  ever  neatly  clean  : 
No  more  presuming  on  her  sway, 
She  learns  good-nature  every  day; 
Serenely  gay,  and  strict  in  duty. 
Jack  finds  his  wife  a  perfect  beauty. 


€^t  (lift  ' 

TO  IRIS;  IN  BOW  STREET,  COVENT  GARDEN. 


Say,  cruel  Iris,  pretty  rake. 

Dear  mercenary  beauty, 
What  annual  offering  shall  I  make 

Expressive  of  my  duty  ? 

My  heart,  a  victim  to  thine  eyes, 

Should  I  at  once  deliver. 
Say,  would  the  angry  fair  one  prize 

The  gift,  who  slights  the  giver  ? 

A  bill,  a  jewel,  watch,  or  toy. 
My  rivals  give — and  let  'em. 

If  gems  or  gold  impart  a  joy, 
ril  give  them — when  I  get  'em. 

ni  give — ^but  not  the  full  blown  rose, 
Or  rosebud,  more  in  fashion ; 

Such  short  liv'd  offerings  but  disclose 
A  transitory  passion. 

ni  give  thee  something  yet  unpaid, 

Not  less  sincere  than  civil ; 
rU  give  thee — ah  !  too  charming  maid, 

1 11  give  thee — to  the  devil. 

(101) 


IN  IMITATION  or  DEAN  SWIFT. 
 1  

Logicians  have  but  ill  defined 
As  rational  the  human  mind ; 
Reason,  they  say,  belongs  to  man, 
But  let  them  prove  it  if  they  can. 
Wise  Aristotle  and  Smiglesius, 
By  ratiocinations  specious, 
Have  strove  to  prove  with  great  precision 
With  definition  and  division, 
Homo  est  ratione  preditum  ; 
But  for  my  soul  I  cannot  credit  ^em. 
And  must  in  spite  of  them  maintain, 
That  man  and  all  his  ways  are  vain ; 
And  that  this  boasted  lord  of  nature 
Is  both  a  weak  and  erring  creature. 
That  instinct  is  a  surer  guide 
Than  reason,  boasting  mortals'  pride ) 
And  that  brute  beasts  are  far  before  'em, 
Deu8  est  anima  brutorum. 

(102) 


The  Logicians  Refuted. 


Who  ever  knew  an  honest  brute 

At  law  his  neighbour  prosecute, 

Bring  action  for  assault  and  battery, 

Or  friend  beguile  with  lies  and  flattery  ? 

O'er  plains  they  ramble  unconfined, 

No  politics  disturb  their  mind ; 

They  eat  their  meals,  and  take  their  sport, 

Nor  know  who's  in  or  out  at  court ; 

They  never  to  the  levee  go 

To  treat  as  dearest  friend  a  foe : 

They  never  importune  his  grace, 

Nor  even  cringe  to  men  in  place ; 

Nor  undertake  a  dirty  job, 

Nor  draw  the  quill  to  write  for  Bob,* 

Fraught  with  invective  they  ne'er  go, 

To  folks  at  Paternoster-row  : 

No  judges,  fiddlers,  dancing-masters, 

No  pickpockets,  or  poetasters. 

Are  known  to  honest  quadrupeds, 

No  single  brute  his  fellows  leads. 

Brutes  never  meet  in  bloody  fray. 

Nor  cut  each  others'  throats  for  pay. 

Of  beasts,  it  is  confess' d  the  ape 

Comes  nearest  us  in  human  shape. 

Like  man  he  imitates  each  fashion, 

And  malice  is  his  ruling  passion  : 

But  both  in  malice  and  grimaces 

A  courtier  any  ape  surpasses. 


*  Sir  Robert  Walpole, 


Goldsmith's  Poetical  Work 


Behold  him  hnmbly  cringing  wait 
Upon  the  minister  of  state  : 
View  him  soon  after  to  inferiors, 
Aping  the  conduct  of  superiors  : 
He  promises  with  equal  air, 
And  to  perform  takes  equal  care. 
He  in  turn  finds  imitators; 
At  court,  the  porters,  lacqueys,  waiters, 
Their  masters'  manners  still  contract. 
And  footman  lords  and  dukes  can  act. 
Thus  at  the  court  both  great  and  small 
Behave  alike,  for  all  ape  all. 


— I — 

Weeping,  murmuring,  complaining, 

Lost  to  every  gay  delight ; 
Myra,  too  sincere  for  feigning, 

Fears  th'  approaching  bridal  night. 

Yet  why  impair  thy  bright  perfection  ? 

Or  dim  thy  beauty  with  a  tear  ? 
Had  Myra  followed  my  direction, 

She  long  had  wanted  cause  of  fear. 


1  ^imilt 


IN  THE  MANNER  OF  SWIET. 

 »  . 

Long  had  I  sought  in  vain  to  find 
A  likeness  for  the  scribbling  kind : 
The  modern  scribbling  kind,  who  write, 
In  wit,  and  sense,  and  nature's  spite : 
Till  reading,  I  forgot  what  day  on, 
A  chapter  out  of  Took's  Pantheon, 
I  think  I  met  with  something  there, 
To  suit  my  purpose  to  a  hair ; 
But  let  us  not  proceed  too  furious, 
First  please  to  turn  to  god  Mercurius ; 
You'll  find  him  pictured  at  full  length 
In  book  the  second,  page  the  tenth : 
The  stress  of  all  my  proofs  on  him  I  lay, 
And  now  proceed  we  to  our  simile. 

Imprimis,  pray  observe  his  hat. 
Wings  upon  either  side — mark  that. 
14  (105) 


106  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


Weil !  wliat  is  it  from  thence  we  gather  ? 
Why  these  denote  a  brain  of  feather. 
A  brain  of  feather  !  very  right, 
With  wit  that's  flighty,  learning  light; 
Such  as  to  modern  bards  decreed ; 
A  just  comparison, — proceed. 
»  »  _ 

In  the  next  place,  his  feet  peruse, 
Wings  grow  again  from  both  his  shoes ; 
Designed,  no  doubt,  their  part  to  bear, 
And  waft  his  godship  through  the  air : 
And  here  my  simile  unites, 
For  in  the  modern  poet's  flights, 
Tm  sure  it  may  be  justly  said. 
His  feet  are  useful  as  his  head. 

Lastly,  vouchsafe  t' observe  his  hand, 
Fill'd  with  a  snake-encircled  wand ; 
By  classic  authors  termed  caducous, 
And  highly  famed  for  several  uses, 
To  wit — most  wondrously  endued, 
No  poppy  water  half  so  good; 
For  let  folks  only  get  a  touch, 
Its  soporific  virtue's  such. 
Though  ne'er  so  much  awake  before, 
That  quickly  they  begin  to  snore. 
Add  too,  what  certain  writers  tell. 
With  this  he  drives  men's  souls  to  hell. 


A  New  Simile  . 


Now  to  apply,  begin  we  then ; 
His  wand's  a  modern  author's  pen; 
The  serpents  round  about  it  twined 
Denote  him  of  the  reptile  kind ; 
Denote  the  rage  with  which  he  writes, 
His  frothy  slaver,  venom' d  bites ; 
An  equal  semblance  still  to  keep, 
Alike  too  both  conduce  to  sleep. 
This  difference  only  as  the  God 
Drove  souls  to  Tartarus  with  his  rod, 
With  his  goosequill  the  scribbling  elf, 
Instead  of  others,  damns  himself. 

And  here  my  simile  almost  tript, 
Yet  grant  a  word  by  way  of  postscript. 
Moreover,  Mercury  had  a  failing  : 
We'll !  what  of  that  ?  out  with  it — stealing ; 
In  which  all  modern  bards  agree, 
Being  each  as  great  a  thief  as  he  : 
But  e'en  this  deity's  existence 
Shall  lend  my  simile  assistance. 
Our  modern  bards  !  why  what  a  pox 
Are  they  but  senseless  stones  and  blocks  ? 


AN  ELEGY 


ON  THE 

Mu\^  nt  a  Hah  log. 

 1  

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort, 

Give  ear  unto  my  song ; 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short, 

It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  was  a  man, 
Of  whom  the  world  might  say, 

That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran 
Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had, 
To  comfort  friends  and  foes; 

The  naked  every  day  he  clad, 
When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 

And  in  that  town  a  dog  was  found. 

As  many  dogs  there  be. 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 
And  curs  of  low  degree. 
(108) 


Death  of  a  Mad  Dog. 


This  dog  and  man  at  first  were  friends ; 

But  when  a  pique  began, 
The  dog,  to  gain  his  private  ends, 

Went  mad,  and  bit  the  man. 

Around  from  all  the  neighbouring  streets 
The  wondering  neighbours  ran, 

And  swore  the  dog  had  lost  his  wits. 
To  bite  so  good  a  man. 

The  wound  it  seemed  both  sore  and  sad 

Te  every  christian  eye; 
And  while  they  swore  the  dog  was  mad, 

They  swore  the  man  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light, 
That  showM  the  rogues  they  lied, 

The  man  recovered  of  the  bite, 
The  dog  it  was  that  died. 


John  Trott  was  desired  by  two  witty  peers 
To  tell  them  the  reason  why  asses  had  ears  ? 
*  An't  please  you/  quoth  John, '  Vm  not  given  to  letters, 
Nor  dare  I  pretend  to  know  more  than  my  betters ; 
Howe'er,  from  this  time  I  shall  ne'er  see  your  graces, 
As  I  hope  to  be  saved !  without  thinking  on  asses/ 


— 

When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly, 
And  finds  too  late  that  men  betray, 

What  charm  can  soothe  her  melancholy. 
What  art  can  wash  her  guilt  away  ? 


The  only  art  her  guilt  to  cover. 
To  hide  her  shame  from  every  eye. 

To  give  repentance  to  her  lover. 
And  wring  his  bosom — is,  to  die, 

(110) 


DESCRIPTION  OF  AN 
— I — 

Where  the  Red  Lion  staring  o^er  the  way, 
Invites  each  passing  stranger  that  can  pay; 
Where  Calvert^ s  butt,  and  Parson's  black  champagne, 
Regale  the  drabs  and  bloods  of  Drury-lane ; 
There  in  a  lonely  room,  from  bailiff's  snug, 
The  Muse  found  Scroggen  stretched  beneath  a  rug; 
A  window,  patched  with  paper,  lent  a  ray. 
That  dimly  showed  the  state  in  which  he  lay ; 
The  sanded  floor  that  grits  beneath  the  tread; 
The  humid  wall  with  paltry  pictures  spread  ; 
The  royal  game  of  goose  was  there  in  view. 
And  the  twelve  rules  the  royal  martyr  drew; 
The  seasons,  framed  with  listing,  found  a  place. 
And  brave  prince  William  show'd  his  lampblack  face: 
The  morn  was  cold,  he  views  with  keen  desire 
The  rusty  grate  unconscious  of  a  fire  : 
With  beer  and  milk  arrears  the  frieze  was  scored, 
And  five  crackM  teacups  dressed  the  cln'mney  board ; 
A  night<3ap  deckM  his  brows  instead  of  bay, 
A  cap  by  night — a  stocking  all  the  day  I 

(111) 


% 

INTENDED  TO  HAVE  BEEN  SUNG  IN  THE  COMEDY  OP 
"  SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER.'' 

 f—^ 

Ah^  me  !  wKen  shall  I  marry  me  ? 
Lovers  are  plenty ;  but  fail  to  relieve  me. 
He,  fond  youth,  that  could  carry  me, 
Offers  to  love,  but  means  to  deceive  me. 

But  I  will  rally  and  combat  the  miner : 
Not  a  look,  not  a  smile  shall  my  passion  discover. 
She  that  gives  all  to  the  false  one  pursuing  her, 
Makes  but  a  penitent,  and  loses  a  lover. 


Here  lies  poor  Ned  Purdon,  from  misery  freed, 
Who  long  was  a  bookseller^ s  hack ; 
He  led  such  a  damnable  life  in  this  world, — 
I  don't  think  he'll  wish  to  come  back. 

*  This  gentleman  was  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin ;  but 
having  wasted  his  patrimony,  h«  enlisted  as  a  foot  soldier :  growing 
tired  of  that  employment,  he  obtained  his  discharge,  and  became  a 
scribbler  in  the  newspapers.    He  translated  Voltaire's  Henriade. 
(112) 

> 


STANZAZ  ON 


€^t  taking  nf  (hntht 


 H— 

Amidst  the  clamour  of  exulting  joys, 

Which  triumph  forces  from  the  patriot  heart ; 

Grief  dares  to  mingle  her  soul-piercing  voice, 

And  quells  the  raptures  which  from  pleasures  start. 

O  Wolfe,  to  thee  a  streaming  flood  of  woe, 

Sighing  we  pay,  and  think  e'en  conquest  dear ; 

Quebec  in  vain  shall  teach  our  breast  to  glow. 
Whilst  thy  sad  fate  extorts  the  heart-wrung  tear. 

Alive  the  foe  thy  dreadful  vigour  fled. 

And  saw  thee  fall  with  joy-pronouncing  eyes  : 

Yet  they  shall  know  thou  conquerest,  though  dead ! 
Since  from  thy  tomb  a  thousand  heroes  rise. 
15  H  (113) 


Good  people  all,  with  one  accord, 
Lament  for  Madam  Blaize, 

Who  never  wanted  a  good  word — 
From  those  who  spoke  her  praise. 

The  needy  seldom  pass'd  her  door, 
And  always  found  her  kind ; 

She  freely  lent  to  all  the  poor — 
Who  left  a  pledge  behind. 

She  strove  the  neighbourhood  to  please. 
With  manners  wondrous  winning ; 

And  never  followed  wicked  ways — 
Unless  when  she  was  sinning. 

At  church,  in  silks  and  satins  new, 
With  hoop  of  monstrous  size; 

She  never  slumber'd  in  her  pew — 
But  when  she  shut  her  eyes. 

Her  love  was  sought,  I  do  aver, 
By  twenty  beaux  and  more ; 

The  king  himself  has  followM  her — 
When  she  has  walk'd  before. 
(114) 


Epitaph  on  Dr.  Parnell. 


115 


But  now  her  wealtli  and  finery  fled; 

Her  hangers-on  cut  short  all ; 
The  doctors  found,  when  she  was  dead — 

Her  last  disorder  mortal. 

Let  us  lament  J  in  sorrow  sore, 

For  Kent-street  well  may  say, 
That  had  she  livM  a  twelvemonth  more — 

She  had  not  died  to-day. 

This  tomb  inscribed  to  gentle  Pamelas  name, 

May  speak  our  gratitude,  but  not  his  fame. 

What  heart  but  feels  his  sweetly  moral  lay. 

That  leads  to  truth  through  pleasure's  flowery  way? 

Celestial  themes  confessed  his  tuneful  aid ; 

And  heaven,  that  lent  him  genius,  was  repaid. 

Needless  to  him  the  tribute  we  bestow, 

The  transitory  breath  of  fame  below  : 

More  lasting  rapture  from  his  work  shall  rise, 

"While  converts  thank  their  poet  in  the  skies. 


A  ROMAN  KNIGHT,  WHOM  C^SAR  FORCED  UPON  THE  STAGE. 

(  Preserved  hy  Macrohiua,  ) 


What  !  no  way  left  to  shun  tli'  inglorious  stage^ 
And  save  from  infamy  my  sinking  age ! 
Scarce  half  alive^  oppressed  with  many  a  year, 
What  in  the  name  of  dotage  drives  me  here  ? 
A  time  there  was,  when  glory  was  my  guide, 
Nor  force  nor  fraud  could  turn  my  steps  aside ; 
Unaw'd  by  power,  and  unappalFd  by  fear. 
With  honest  thrift  I  held  my  honour  dear; 
But  this  vile  hour  disperses  all  my  store,  ^ 
And  all  my  hoard  of  honour  is  no  more ; 
For  ah  !  too  partial  to  my  life's  decline, 
Caesar  persuades,  submission  must  be  mine; 
Him  I  obey,  whom  heaven  itself  obeys, 
Hopeless  of  pleasing,  yet  inclined  to  please. 
'    Here  then  at  once  I  welcome  every  shame, 
And  cancel  at  threescore  a  life  of  fame ; 
No  more  my  titles  shall  my  children  tell, 
The  old  buffoon  will  fit  my  name  as  well ; 
This  day  beyond  its  term  my  fate  extends. 
For  life  is  ended  when  our  honour  ends. 

(116) 


A  TRAGEDY 

V^RITTEN  BY  JOSEPH  CRADDOCK,  ESQ. 
 H— 

In  these  bold  times,  when  learning's  sons  explore 
The  distant  climates,  and  the  savage  shore; 
When  wise  astronomers  to  India  steer, 
And  quit  for  Venus  many  a  brighter  here ; 
While  botanists y  all  cold  to  smiles  and  dimpling, 
Forsake  the  fair,  and  patiently — go  simpling, 
Our  bard  into  the  general  spirit  enters, 
And  fits  his  little  frigate  for  adventures. 
With  ScytJiian  stores,  and  trinkets  deeply  laden, 
He  this  way  steers  his  course,  in  hopes  of  trading — 
Yet  ere  he  lands  has  ordered  me  before, 
To  make  an  observation  on  the  shore. 
Where  are  we  driven  ?  our  reckoning  sure  is  lost ! 
This  seems  a  rocky  and  dangerous  coast. 
Lord,  what  a  sultry  climate  am  I  under ! 
Yon  ill  foreboding  cloud  seems  big  with  thunder. 

[flipper  Gallery/, 

There  mangroves  spread,  and  larger  than  Fve  seen  'em — 

\PlL 

(117) 


118  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works 


Here  trees  of  stately  size — and  billing  turtles  in  'em — 

\_Balco7iies, 

Here  ill-condition' d  oranges  abound —  [^Stage, 
And  appleS;  bitter  apples,  strew  the  ground  ; 

[^Tasting  them. 

The  inhabitants  are  cannibals,  I  fear : 

I  heard  a  hissing — there  are  serpents  here  ! 

Oh,  there  the  people  are — best  keep  my  distance : 

Our  Captain^  gentle  natives,  craves  assistance ; 

Our  ships  well  stored— in  yonder  creek  we've  laid  her, 

His  Honour  is  no  mercenary  trader. 

This  is  his  first  adventure  :  lend  him  aid, 

And  we  may  chance  to  drive  a  thriving  trade. 

His  goods,  he  hopes,  are  prime,  and  brought  from  far, 

Equally  fit  for  gallantry  and  war. 

What  ?  no  reply  to  promises  so  ample  ! 

I'd  best  step  back — and  order  up  a  sample. 


In  all  my  Emma's  beauties  blest, 
Amidst  profusion  still  I  pine ; 

For  though  she  gives  me  up  her  breast, 
Its  panting  tenant  is  not  mine. 


EPILOGUE 


IN  THE   CHARACTER   OF   HARLEQUIN,   AT   HIS  BENEFIT. 


Hold  !  prompter,  hold !  a  word  before  your  nonsense  3 
Fd  speak  a  word  or  two,  to  ease  my  conscience. 
My  pride  forbids  it  ever  should  be  said. 
My  heels  eclipsM  the  honours  of  my  head  3 
That  I  found  humour  in  a  pyeball  vest, 
Or  ever  thought  that  jumping  was  a  jest. 

[  Takes  off  his  mash 

Whence,  and  what  art  thou,  visionary  birth  ? 
Nature  disowns,  and  reason  scorns  thy  mirth, 
In  thy  black  aspect  every  passion  sleeps, 
The  joy  that  dimples,  and  the  woe  that  weeps. 
How  hast  thou  filled  the  scene  with  all  thy  broo^, 
Of  fools  pursuing,  and  of  fools  pursued  ! 
Whose  ins  and  outs  no  ray  of  sense  discloses, 
Whose  only  plot  it  is  to  break  our  noses ; 
Whilst  from  below  the  trapdoor  demons  rise, 
And  from  above  the  dangling  deities ; 
And  shall  I  mix  in  this  unhallowM  crew  ? 
May  rosin'd  lightning  blast  me,  if  I  do ! 
No — I  will  act,  ni  vindicate  the  stage  : 
Shakespeare  himself  shall  feel  my  tragic  rage. 

(119) 


120  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

Off!  off!  vile  trapping— a  new  passion  reigns  ! 

The  maddening  monarch  revels  in  my  veins. 

Oh  !  for  a  Richard's  voice  to  catch  the  theme  : 

Give  me  another  horse  !  bind  up  my  wounds  ! — soft— 

^twas  but  a  dream. 
Ay,  'twas  but  a  dream,  for  now  there's  no  retreating : 
If  I  cease  Harlequin.  I  cease  from  eating. 
'Twas  thus  that  jEsop's  stag,  a  creature  blameless, 
Yet  something  vain,  like  one  that  shall  be  nameless, 
Once  on  the  margin  of  a  fountain  stood. 
And  caviird  at  his  image  in  the  flood  : 

The  deuce  confound,"  he  cries, '  ^  these  drumstick  shanks, 
They  never  have  my  gratitude  nor  thanks ; 
They're  perfectly  disgraceful  I  strike  me  dead  I 
But  for  a  head,  yes,  yes,  I  have  a  head  : 
How  piercing  is  that  eye  1  how  sleek  that  brow  ! 
My  horns  ! — I'm  told  horns  are  the  fashion  now." 

Whilst  thus  he  spoke,  astonish' d'  to  his  view, 
Near,  and  more  near,  the  hounds  and  huntsmen  drew ; 

Hoicks  !  hark  forward  !"  came  thund'ring  from  behind  : 
He  bounds  aloft,  outstrips  the  fleeting  wind  : 
He  quits  the  woods,  and  tries  the  beaten  ways ; 
He  starts,  he  pants,  he  takes  the  circling  maze  : 
At  length,  his  silly  head,  so  prized  before, 
Is  taught  his  former  folly  to  deplore ; 
Whilst  his  strong  limbs  conspire  to  set  him  free, 
,  And  at  one  bound  he  saves  himself — like  me. 

^Taking  a  jump  through  the  stage  door. 


EPILOGUE 

TO  THE 


What  ?  five  long  acts — and  all  to  make  us  wiser  ! 

Our  authoress  sure  has  wanted  an  adviser. 

Had  she  consulted  me,  she  should  have  made 

Her  moral  play  a  speaking  masquerade  ; 

WarmM  up  each  bustling  scene^  and,  in  her  rage, 

Have  emptied  all  the  green-room  on  the  stage. 

My  life  on^t,  this  had  kept  her  play  from  sinking, 

Have  pleased  our  eyes,  and  saved  the  pain  of  thinking. 

Well,  since  she  thus  has  shown  her  want  of  skill, 

What  if  I  give  a  masquerade  ? — I  will. 

But  how  ?  ay  there's  the  rub !  [pausing']  Fve  got  my  cue : 

The  world's  a  masquerade  !  the  masquers,  you,  you,  you. 

[To  Boxes  J  Pit,  and  Gallery, 

Lud  !  what  a  group  the  motley  scene  discloses  ! 

False  wits,  false  wives,  false  virgins,  and  false  spouses ! 

Statesmen  with  bridles  on ;  and,  close  beside  'em, 

Patriots  in  particoloured  suits  that  ride  'em  : 

There  Hebes,  turn'd  of  fifty,  try  once  more 

To  raise  a  flame  in  Cupids  of  threescore  ; 

16  (121)  . 


\ 


122   Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

These  in  their  turn,  with  appetites  as  keen, 
Deserting  fifty,  fasten  on  fifteen  : 
Miss,  not  yet  full  fifteen,  with  fire  uncommon, 
Flings  down  her  sampler,  and  takes  up  the  woman  ! 
The  little  urchin  smiles,  and  spreads  her  lure, 
And  tries  to  kill,  ere  she's  got  power  to  cure. 
Thus  'tis  with  all :  their  chief  and  constant  care 
Is  to  seem  everything- — but  what  they  are. 
Yon  broad,  bold,  angry  spark,  I  fix  my  eye  on, 
Who  seems  to  have  robb'd  his  vizor  from  the  lion ; 
Who  frowns,  and  talks,  and  swears,  with  round  parade, 
Looking,  as  who  should  say,  Damme  !  whose  afraid  ? 

[MimicMng, 

Strip  but  this  vizor  off,  and,  sure  I  am, 

You'll  find  his  lionship  a  very  lamb : 

Yon  politician,  famous  in  debate. 

Perhaps,  to  vulgar  eyes  bestrides  the  state; 

Yet,  when  he  deigns  his  real  shape  t' assume, 

He  turns  old  woman,  and  bestrides  a  broom. 

Yon  patriot,  too,  who  presses  on  your  sight, 

And  seems,  to  every  gazer,  all  in  white, 

If  with  a  bribe  his  candour  you  attack. 

He  bows,  turns  round,  and  whip — the  man's  in  black  ! 

Yon  critic,  too — but  whither  do  I  run  ? 

If  I  proceed,  our  bard  will  be  undone  ! 

Well,  then,  a  truce,  since  she  requests  it  too  : 

Do  you  spare  her,  and  I'll  for  once  spare  you. 


SPOKEN  BY  MKS.  BULKLEY  AND  MISS  CATLEY. 


Enter  Mrs.  Bulkley,  who  curtsies  very  low  as  beginning  to  speak. 
Then  enter  Miss  Catley^  who  stands  full  before  her,  and  curtsies 
to  the  audience. 

MRS.  BULKLEY. 

Hold,  Ma'am,  your  pardon.  Whaf  s  your  business  here  ] 

MISS  CATLEY. 

The  Epilogue. 

( 123  ). 


124    Golds M IT H^s  Poetical  Works. 

MES.  BULKLEY. 

The  Epilogue? 

MISS  CATLEY. 

YeS;  the  Epilogue,  my  dear. 

MRS.  BULKLEY. 

Sure  you  mistake,  Ma'am.    The  Epilogue  I  bring  it. 

MISS  CATLEY. 

■ft 

Excuse  me,  Ma'am.    The  Author  bid  me  sing  it. 

Recitative, 

Ye  beaux  and  bells,  that  form  this  splendid  ring, 
Suspend  your  conversation  while  I  sing. 

MRS.  BULKLEY. 

Why  sure  the  girl's  beside  herself:  an  Epilogue  of 
singing, 

A  hopeful  end  indeed  to  such  a  blest  beginning. 
Besides,  a  singer  in  a  comic  set !  ' 
Excuse  me.  Ma'am,  I  know  the  etiquette. 

MISS  CATLEY. 

What  if  we  leave  it  to  the  House  ? 

MRS.    BULKLEY.  t 

The  House  I — Agreed. 

MISS  CATLEY. 

Agreed. 


An  Epilogue. 


125 


MRS.  BULKLEY. 

And  she,  whose  party's  largest,  shall  proceed. 
And  first  I  hope,  you'll  readily  agree 
I've  all  the  critics  and  the  wits  for  me. 
They,  I  am  sure,  will  answer  my  commands, 
Ye  candid  judging  few,  hold  up  your  hands; 
What,  no  return  ?    I  find  too  late,  I  fear, 
That  modern  judges  seldom  enter  here. 

MISS  CATLEY. 

I'm  for  a  different  set. — Old  men,  whose  trade  is 
Still  to  gallant  and  dangle  with  the  ladies. 

Recitative. 

Who  mump  their  passion,  and  who,  grimly  smiling, 
Still  thus  address  the  fair  with  voice  beguiling. 

Air —  Cotillion, 

Turn,  my  fairest,  turn,  if  ever 

Strephon  caught  thy  ravished  eye ; 
Pity  take  on  your  swains  so  clever, 
Who  without  your  aid  must  die. 

Yes,  I  shall  die,  hu,  hu,  hu,  hu, 
Yes,  I  must  die,  ho,  ho,  ho,  ho. 

Da  Capo. 

MRS.  BULKLEY. 

Let  all  the  old  pay  homage  to  your  merit : 
Give  me  the  young,  the  gay,  the  men  of  spirit. 
Ye  travelled  tribe,  ye  macaroni  train 
Of  French  friseurs,  and  nosegays,  justly  vain, 


126  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


Who  take  a  trip  to  Paris  once  a  year 

To  dress,  and  look  like  awkward  Frenclinien  here;  K 

Lend  me  your  hands.— 0  fatal  news  to  tell, 

Their  hands  are  only  lent  to  the  Heinelle. 

MISS  CATLEY. 

Ay,  take  your  travellers,  travellers  indeed ! 
Give  me  the  bonny  Scot,  that  travels  from  the  Tweed. 
Where  are  the  cheils  ?    Ah  !  Ah,  I  will  discern 
The  smiling  looks  of  each  bewitching  bairn. 

Tune — A  honny  young  lad  is  my  jockey. 

Air, 

Fll  sing  to  amuse  you  by  night  and  by  day. 
And  be  unco  merry  when  you  are  but  gay; 
When  you  with  your  bagpipes  are  ready  to  play, 
My  voice  shall  be  ready  to  carol  away 

^    With  Sandy,  and  Sawney,  and  Jockey 
With  Sawney,  and  Jarvie,  and  J ockey. 

:  MRS.  BULKLEY. 

Te  gamesters,  who,  so  eager  in  pursuit. 
Make  but  of  all  your  fortune  one  va  toute  : 
Ye  Jockey  tribe,  whose  stock  of  words  are  few, 

I  hold  the  odds. — Done,  done,  with  you,  with  you.'^ 
Ye  barristers  so  fluent  with  grimace. 

My  Lord, — your  Lordship  misconceives  the  case/' 
Doctors,  who  cough  and  answer  every  misfortuner, 

I  wish  rd  been  called  in  a  little  sooner,^' 
Assist  my  cause  with  hands  and  voices  hearty, 
Come  end  the  contest  here,  and  aid  my  party. 


An  Epilogue.  127 

MISS  CATLEY. 

Air — Balleinamony , 
Ye  brave  Irish  lads,  hark  away  to  the  crack, 
Assist  me,  I  pray,  in  this  woful  attack ; 
For  sure  I  don^t  wrong  you,  you  seldom  are  slack, 
When  the  ladies  are  calling,  to  blush  and  hang  back. 
For  you're  always  polite  and  attentive, 
Still  to  amuse  us  inventive, 
And  death  is  your  only  preventive : 
Your  hands  and  your  voices  for  me. 

MRS.  BULKLEY. 

Well,  Madam,  what  if,  after  all  this  sparring. 
We  both  agree,  like  friends,  to  end  our  jarring  ? 

MISS  CATLEY. 

And  that  our  friendship  may  remain  unbroken, 
What  if  ^e  leave  the  Epilogue  unspoken  ? 

MRS.  BULKLEY. 

Agreed. 

MISS  CATLEY. 

Agreed. 

MRS.  BULKLEY. 

And  now  with  late  repentance, 
Unepilogued  the  poet  waits  his  sentence. 
Condemn  the  stubborn  fool  who  canH  submit 
To  thrive  by  flattery,  though  he  starves  by  wit. 

\Exmnt, 


^  INTENDED  FOR  MRS.  BULKLEY. 

— -I  . 

There  is  a  place — so  Ariosto  sings — 
A  treasury  for  lost  and  missing  things ; 
Lost  human  wits  have  places  there  assigned  them, 
And  they  who  lose  their  senses,  there  may  find  them. 
But  where' s  this  place^  this  storehouse  of  the  age? 
The  moon,  says  he;  but  I  affirm,  the  stage — 
At  least,  in  many  things  I  think  I  see 
His  lunar  and  our  mimic  world  agree  :  # 
Both  shine  at  night,  for,  but  at  Footers  alone, 
We  scarce  exhibit  till  the  sun  goes  down  : 
Both  prone  to  change,  no  settled  limits  fix, 
And  sure  the  folks  of  both  are  lunatics. 
But  in  this  parallel  my  best  pretence  is,  '  . 

That  mortals  visit  both  to  find  their  senses  : 
To  this  strange  spot,  rakes,  macaronies,  cits. 
Come  thronging  to  collect  their  scattered  wits. 
The  gay  coquette,  who  ogles  all  the  day, 
Comes  here  at  night,  and  goes  a  prude  away. 
Hither  the  affected  city  dame  advancing, 
Who  sighs  for  operas  and  doats  on  dancing, 

(128) 


An  Epilogue. 


129 


Taught  by  our  art,  her  ridicule  to  pause  on, 

Quits  the  Ballet,  and  calls  for  Nancy  Dawson. 

The  gamester,  too,  whose  wit^s  all  high  or  low, 

Oft  risks  his  fortune  on  one  desperate  throw, 

Comes  here  to  saunter,  having  made  his  bets, 

Finds  his  lost  senses  out  and  pays  his  debts. 

The  Mohawk,  too,  with  angry  phrases  stored — 

As    Damme  Sir     and    Sir,  I  wear  a  sword  !''-^ 

Here  lessoned  for  a  while,  and  hence  retreating, 

Goes  out,  affronts  his  man,  and  takes  a  beating. 

Here  comes  the  sons  of  scandal  and  of  news, 

But  find  no  sense — for  they  had  none  to  lose. 

Of  all  tribe  here  wanting  an  adviser. 

Our  Author^ s  the  least  likely  to  grow  wiser ; 

Has  he  not  seen  how  you  your  favour  place 

On  sentimental  queens  and  lords  in  lace  ? 

Without  a  star,  a  coronet,  or  garter. 

How  can  the  piece  expect  or  hope  for  quarter? 

No  high -life  scenes,  no  sentiment :  the  creature 

Still  stoops  among  the  low  to  copy  nature.  I 

Yes,  he^s  far  gone :  and  yet  some  pity  fix,  y 

The  English  laws  forbid  to  punish  lunatics.' 

*  This  Epilogue  was  given  in  MS.  by  Dr.  Goldsmith  to  Dr, 
Percy  (now  Bishop  of  Dromore;)  but  for  what  comedy  it  was  in- 
tended is  not  remembered. 

17  I 


TO   THE  COMEDY  OP 

"SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER/^ 

Well,  having  Stooped  to  Conquer  with  success. 
And  gained  a  husband  without  aid  from  dresS; 
Still  as  a  barmaid,  I  could  wish  it  too, 
As  I  have  conquered  him,  to  conquer  you : 
And  let  me  say,  for  all  your  resolution, 
That  pretty  barmaids  have  done  execution. 
Our  life  is  all  a  play,  composed  to  please, 
^  We  have  our  exits  and  our  entrances/ 
The  First  Act  shows  the  simple  country  maid, 
Harmless  and  young,  of  every  thing  afraid ; 
Blushes  when  hired,  and  with  unmeaning  action, 
^  I  hope  as  how  to  give  you  satisfaction/ 
Her  Second  Act  displays  a  livelier  scene — 
Th'  unblushing  barmaid  of  a  country  inn. 
Who  whisks  about  the  house,  at  market  caters, 
Talks  loud,  coquets  the  guests,  and  scolds  the  waiters. 
Next  the  scene  shifts  to  town,  and  there  she  soars, 
The  chophouse  toasts  of  ogling  connoisseurs. 
On  'squires  and  cits  she  there  displays  her  arts, 
And  on  the  gridiron  broils  her  lovers'  hearts  : 
(130) 


Lines  Attributed  to  Goldsmith.  131 

And  as  slie  smiles,  her  triumplis  to  complete, 

Even  common-councilmen  forget  to  eat. 

The  Fourth  Act  shows  her  wedded  to  the  ^squire, 

And  madam  now  begins  to  hold  it  higher; 

Dotes  upon  dancing,  and  in  all  her  pride, 

Swims  round  the  room  the  Heinelle  of  Cheapside  y 

Ogles  and  leers  with  artificial  skill, 

'Till  having  lost  in  age  the  power  to  kill, 

She  sits  all  night  at  cards,  and  ogles  at  Spadille. 

Such,  through  our  lives,  the  eventful  history — 

The  Fifth  and  Last  Act  still  remain  for  me. 

The  barmaid  now  for  your  protection  prays, 

Turns  female  barrister,  and  pleads  for  bays. 



Tim  %tixi\iulti  tn  ir.  d^nlhmitjf, 

INSERTED  IN   THE  MORNING  CHRONICLE  OP  APRIL  3,  1800. 



E'en  have  you  seen,  bathed  in  the  morning  dew : 
The  budding  rose  its  infant  bloom  display; 

When  first  its  virgin  tints  unfold  to  view, 

It  shrinks,  and  scarcely  trusts  the  blaze  of  day : 

So  soft,  so  delicate,  so  sweet  she  came, 

Youth's  damask  glow  just  dawning  on  her  cheek; 
I  gazed,  I  sighed,  I  caught  the  tender  flame, 

Felt  the  fond  pang,  and  dropped  with  passion  weak. 


^txhxm  in 

For  you,  bright  fair,  the  Nine  address  their  lays, 
And  tune  my  feeble  voice  to  sing  thy  praise. 
The  heartfelt  power  of  every  charm  divine, 
Who  can  withstand  their  all  commanding  shine  5 
See  how  she  moves  along  with  every  grace, 
While  soul-brought  tears  steal  down  each  shining  face. 
She  speaks  I  His  rapture  all,  and  nameless  bliss, 
Ye  gods  !  what  transport  e'er  compared  to  this, 
As  when  in  Paphian  groves  the  Queen  of  Love 
With  fond  complaint  addressed  the  listening  Jove. 
^Twas  joy  and  endless  blisses  all  around. 
And  rocks  forgot  their  hardness  at  the  sound. 
Then  first,  at  last  even  Jove  was  taken  in. 
And  felt  her  charms,  without  disguise,  within. 

— 

'TwAS  you,  or  I,  or  he,  or  all  together, 
'Twas  one,  both,  three  of  them,  they  know  not  whether; 
This,  I  believe,  between  us  great  and  small. 
You,  I,  he,  wrote  it  not — 'twas  Churchiirs  all. 

(132) 


ON  THE 


Ye  muses,  pour  the  pitying  tear 

For  PoUio  snatched  away  j 
Oh  !  had  he  lived  another  year  ! 

He  had  not  died  to-day. 

Oh  !  were  he  born  to  bless  mankind 

In  virtuous  times  of  yore, 
Heroes  themselves  had  fallen  behind 

Whene'er  he  went  before. 

How  sad  the  groves  and  plains  appear, 

And  sympathetic  sheep : 
Even  pitying  hills  would  drop  a  tear 

If  hills  could  learn  to  weep. 

His  bounty  in  exalted  strain 
Each  bard  might  well  display  ; 

Since  none  implored  relief  in  vain 
That  went  relieved  away. 

And  hark !  I  hear  the  tuneful  throng 

His  obsequies  forbid, 
He  still  shall  live,  shall  live  as  long 

As  ever  dead  man  did. 

( 133  ) 


In  (Kfigrara 

ADDRESSED    TO  THE    GENTLEMEN    REFLECTED   ON   IN  THE 
ROSCIAD,    A  POEM,   BY   THE  AUTHOR. 

Worried  with  debts,  and  past  all  hopes  of  bail, 
His  pen  he  prostitutes  t'avoid  a  gaol. 


Let  not  the  hungry  Bavins'  angry  stroke 
Awake  resentment,  or  your  rage  provoke — 
But  pitying  his  distress,  let  virtue  *  shine, 
And  giving  each  your  bounty,  f  let  Mm  dine. 
For  thus  retained,  as  learned  council  can, 
Each  case,  however  bad,  he'll  new  japan  : 
And  by  a  quick  transition,  plainly  show 
'Twas  no  defeat  of  yours,  but  pocket  lowj 
That  caused  his  putrid  kennel  to  overflow. 

(134) 


AN  ORATORIO, 
 ♦  

THE  PERSONS. 


First  Jewish  Propliet. 
Second  Jewish  Prophet 
Israelitish  Woman, 


First  Chaldean  Priest, 
Second  Chaldean  Priest, 
Chaldean  Woman, 


Chorus  of  Youths  and  Virgins, 
^  Scene — The  Banks  of  the  River  Euphrates  near  Bahylon* 


ACT  THE  FIKST. 

FIRST   PROPHET. — RECITATIVE. 

Ye  captive  tribes,  that  hourly  work  and  weep 

jt'f   

Where  flows  Euphrates  murmuring  to  the  deep  

Suspend  your  woes  awhile,  the  task  suspend, 
And  turn  to  God,  your  father  and  your  friend  : 
Insulted,  chained,  and  all  the  world  our  foe, 
Our  God  alone  is  all  we  boast  below. 

(135) 


136  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

CHORUS  OF  PROPHETS. 

Our  God  is  all  we  boast  below, 

To  him  we  turn  our  eyes ; 
And  every  added  weight  of  woe 

Shall  make  our  homage  rise  : 

And  though  no  temple  richly  dressM, 

Nor  sacrifice  is  here — 
We'll  make  his  temple  in  our  breast, 

And  offer  up  a  tear. 

ISRAELITISH  WOMAN. 

That  strain  once  more  it  bids  remembrance  rise, 

And  brings  my  long  lost  country  to  mine  eyes : 

Ye  fields  of  Sharon,  dressM  in  flowery  pride ; 

Ye  plains  where  Kedron  rolls  its  glassy  tide ; 

Ye  hills  of  Lebanon,  with  cedars  crowned ; 

Ye  Gilead  groves,  that  fling  perfumes  around  : 

How  sweet  those  groves  !  that  plain  how  wond'rous  fair  1 

How  sweeter  still  when  Heaven  was  with  us  there  ! 

Air, 

0  Memory  !  thou  fond  deceiver, 

Still  importunate  and  vain, 
To  former  joys  recurring  ever, 

And  turning  all  the  past  to  pain ; 

Thou,  like  the  world,  the  opprest  oppressing, 
Thy  smiles  increase  the  wretch's  woe  ! 

And  he  who  wants  each  other  blessing, 
In  thee  must  ever  find  a  foe. 


The  Captivity. 


FIRST    PROPHET. — RECITATIYE. 

Yet  why  repine  ?    What  though  by  bonds  confined, 
Should  bonds  repress  the  vigour  of  the  mind  ? 
Have  we  not  cause  for  triumph,  when  we  see 
Ourselves  alone  from  idol  worship  free  ? 
Are  not,  this  very  morn,  those  feasts  begun 
Where  prostrate  error  hails  the  rising  sun  ? 
Do  not  our  tyrant  lords  this  day  ordain 
For  superstitious  rights  and  mirth  profane  ? 
And  should  we  mourn  ?    Should  coward  virtue  fly, 
When  vaunting  folly  lifts  her  head  on  high  ? 
No  ?  rather  let  us  triumph  still  the  more — 
And  as  our  fortune  sinks,  our  spirits  soar. 

Air, 

The  triumphs  that  on  vice  attend 
Shall  ever  in  confusion  end ; 
The  good  man  suffers  but  to  gain, 
And  every  virtue  springs  from  pain : 
As  aromatic  plants  bestow 
No  spicy  fragrance  while  they  grow; 
But  crushM,  or  trodden  to  the  ground, 
Diffuse  their  balmy  sweets  around. 

SECOND    PROPHET. — RECITATIVE. 

But  hush,  my  sons,  our  tyrant  lords  are  near, 
The  sounds  of  barbarous  pleasure  strike  mine  ear ; 
Triumphant  music  floats  along  the  vale, 
Near,  nearer  still,  it  gathers  on  the  gale : 
The  growing  sound  their  swift  approach  declares — 
Desist,  my  sons,  nor  mix  the  strain  with  theirs. 
18 


138 


Goldsmith's  Poetical  Wouks. 


Enter  chaldean  priests  attended. 
Air, 

FIRST  PRIEST. 

Come  OH;  my  companions,  the  trmmph  display, 

Let  rapture  the  minutes  employ ; 
The  sun  calls  us  out  on  this  festival  day, 

And  our  monarch  partakes  in  the  joy. 

Like  the  sun,  our  great  monarch  all  rapture  supplies ; 
\  Both  similar  blessings  bestow  : 

The  sun  with  his  splendour  illumines  the  skies  j 
And  our  monarch  enlivens  below. 

Air, 

CHALDEAN  WOMAN. 

Haste,  ye  sprightly  sons  of  pleasure, 
Love  presents  the  fairest  treasure, 
Leave  all  other  joys  for  me. 

A  CHALDEAN  ATTENDANT. 

Or  rather,  love's  delights  despising, 
Haste  to  raptures  ever  rising, 

Wine  shall  bless  the  brave  and  free. 

FIRST  PRIEST. 

Wine  and  beauty  thus  inviting, 
Each  to  different  joys  exciting, 
Whither  shall  my  choice  incline, 


The  Captivity 


SECOND  PRIEST. 

m  waste  no  longer  thought  in  choosing, 
But,  neither  this  nor  that  refusing, 
ni  make  them  both  together  mine. 

RECITATIYE. 

But  whence,  when  joy  should  brighten  o'er  the  land, 
This  sullen  gloom,  in  Judah^s  captive  band? 
Te  sons  of  J udah,  why  the  lute  unstrung  ! 
Or  why  those  harps  on  yonder  willows  hung  ? 
Come,  take  the  lyre,  and  pour  the  strain  along, 
The  day  demands  it :  sing  us  Sion's  song, 
Dismiss  your  griefs,  and  join  our  tuneful  choir — 
For  who  like  you  can  wake  the  sleeping  lyre  ? 

Air. 

Every  moment  as  it  flows 
Some  peculiar  pleasure  owes  : 
Come,  then,  providently  wise. 
Seize  the  debtor  ere  it  flies. 

SECOND  PRIEST. 

Think  not  to-morrow  can  repay 
The  debt  of  pleasure  lost  to-day : 
Alas  !  to-morrow^ s  richest  store 
Can  but  pay  its  proper  score. 

SECOND  PROPHET. 

ChainM  as  we  are,  the  scorn  of  all  mankind. 
To  want,  to  toil,  and  every  ill  consigned — 


140  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works 


Is  this  a  time  to  bid  us  raise  the  strain, 

Or  mix  in  rites  that  Heaven  regards  with  pain?  ' 

No,  never !    May  this  hand  forget  each  art 

That  wakes  to  finest  joys  the  human  heart, 

Ere  I  forget  the  land  that  gave  me  birth, 

Or  join  to  sounds  profane  its  sacred  mirth  ! 

FIRST  PRIEST. 

Rebellious  slaves  !  if  soft  persuasion  fail, 
More  formidable  terrors  shall  prevail. 

FIRST  PROPHET. 

Why,  let  them  come,  one  good  remains  to  cheer, — 
We  fear  the  Lord,  and  scorn  all  other  fear. 

[^Exeunt  Chaldeans. 

CHORUS  OF  CHALDEANS. 

Can  chains  or  tortures  bend  the  mind 
On  Grod's  supporting  breast  reclined  ? 
Stand  fast,  and  let  our  tyrants  see 
That  fortitude  is  victory. 

{^Exeunt 


4 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

 %  

Air» 

CHORUS  OP  PRIESTS. 

0  peace  of  mind,  angelic  guest, 
'  Thou  soft  companion  of  the  breast, 

Dispense  thy  balmy  store ; 
Wing  all  our  thoughts  to  reach  the  sties, 
Till  earth,  receding  from  our  eyes. 

Shall  vanish  as  we  soar. 

FIRST  PRIEST — RECITATIVE. 

No  more.    Too  long  has  justice  been  delayM— 
The  king's  commands  must  fully  be  obeyed ; 
Compliance  with  his  will  your  peace  secures, 
Praise  but  our  gods,  and  every  good  is  yours  : 
But  if,  rebellious  to  his  high  command, 
You  spurn  the  favours  offered  at  his  hand — 
Think,  timely  think,  what  terrors  are  behind, 
Reflect,  nor  tempt  to  rage  the  royal  mind. 

(141) 


142  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


Fierce  is  tlie  tempest  howling 
Along  the  furrowed  main, 

And  fierce  the  whirlwind  rolling, 
O'er  Afric's  sandy  plain  : 


But  storms  that  fly 

To  rend  the  sky, 
Every  ill  presaging — 

Less  dreadful  show 

To  worlds  below 
Than  angry  monarch's  raging.. 


ISRAELITISH  WOMAN. 

Ah  me !  what  angry  terrors  round  us  grow  ! 
How  shrinks  my  soul  to  meet  the  threatened  blow  . 
Ye  prophets,  skill' d  in  Heaven's  eternal  truth, 
Forgive  my  sex's  fears,  forgive  my  youth. 
If  shrinking  thus  when  frowning  power  appears, 
I  wish  for  life,  and  yield  me  to  my  fears. 
Ah  !  let  us  one,  one  little  hour  obey ; 
To-morrow's  tears  may  wash  the  stain  away. 

Air. 

The  wretch,  condemn'd  with  life  to  part, 
Still,  still  on  hopes  relies; 

And  every  pang  that  rends  the  heart, 
Bids  expectation  rise. 


The  Captivity 


Hope,  like  the  glimmering  taper's  light, 

.  Adorns  and  cheers  the  way  ; 
And  still,  as  darker  grows  the  night, 
Emits  a  brighter  ray. 

SECOND  PRIEST. 

Why  this  delay  ?    At  length  for  joy  prepare : 
I  read  your  looks,  and  see  compliance  there. 
Come  on,  and  bid  the  warbling  rapture  rise, 
Our  monarch's  name  the  noblest  theme  supplies. 
Begin,  ye  captive  bands,  and  strike  the  lyre, — 
The  time,  the  theme,  the  place,  and  all  conspire. 

Air, 

CHALDEAN  WOMAN. 

See  the  ruddy  morning  smiling, 
Hear  the  grove  to  bliss  beguiling; 
Zephyrs  through  the  woodland  playing, 
Streams  along  the  valley  straying. 

FIRST  PRIEST. 

While  these  a  constant  revel  keep, 
Shall  reason  only  teach  to  weep  ? 
Hence,  intruder  !  we'll  pursue 
Nature — a  better  guide  than  you. 


SECOND  PRIEST. 

But  hold  !  see,  foremost  of  the  captive  choir. 
The  master  prophet  grasps  his  full-toned  lyro. 


144  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

Mark  where  he  sits,  with  executing  art, 
Feels  for  each  tone,  and  speeds  it  to  the  heart; 


6ee^  how  prophetic  rapture  fills  his  form, 
Awful  as  clouds  that  nurse  the  growing  storm  ! 
And  now  his  voice,  accordant  to  the  string. 
Prepares  our  monarch's  victories  to  sing. 

Air. 

FIRST  PROPHET. 

From  north,  from  south,  from  east,  from  west, 

Conspiring  nations  come : 
Tremble,  thou  vice-polluted  breast, 

Blasphemers,  all  be  dumb. 


The  Captivity. 


115 


The  tempest  gathers  all  around^ 

On  Babylon  it  lies, 
Down  with  her !  down,  down  to  the  ground 

She  sinks,  she  groans,  she  dies. 

SECOND  PROPHET. 

Down  with  her,  Lord,  to  lick  the  dust, 

Before  yon  setting  sun; 
Serve  her  as  she  has  served  the  just ! 

^Tis  fixM — it  shall  be  done. 

FIRST   PRIEST. — RECITATIVE. 

No  more  I  when  slaves  thus  insolent  presume, 

The  king  himself  shall  judge,  and  fix  their  doom. 

Unthinking  wretches  !  have  not  you  and  aU 

Beheld  our  power  in  Zedekiah's  fall  ? 

To  yonder  gloomy  dungeon  turn  your  eyes  : 

See  where  dethroned  your  captive  monarch  lies. 

Deprived  of  sight,  and  rankling  in  his  chain ; 

See  where  he  mourns  his  friends  and  children  slain, 

Yet  know,  ye  slaves,  that  still  remain  behind, 

More  ponderous  chains,  and  dungeons  more  confined. 

CHORUS. 

Arise,  all  potent  ruler,  rise. 

And  vindicate  thy  people's  cause. 

Till  every  tongue  in  every  land 
Shall  offer  up  unfeign'd  applause. 

[^Exeunt 


19 


K 


146  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 


ACT  THE  THIED. 
— I — . 

FIRST  PRIEST. 

Yes,  my  companions,  Heaven's  decrees  are  pass'd, 

And  our  fix'd  empire  shall  for  ever  last : 

In  vain  the  maddening  prophet  threatens  woe — 

In  vain  rebellion  aims  her  secret  blow ; 

Still  shall  our  name  and  growing  power  be  spread, 

And  still  our  justice  crush  the  traitor's  head. 

Air, 

Coeval  with  man 
Our  empire  began, 
And  never  shall  fall 
Till  ruin  shakes  all. 
When  ruin  shakes  all. 
Then  shall  Babylon  fall. 

SECOND  PROPHET. 

'Tis  thus  the  proud  triumphant  rear  the  head— 
A  little  while,  and  all  their  power  is  fled. 
But,  ha !  what  means  yon  sadly  plaintive  train, 
That  onward  slowly  bends  along  the  plain  ? 
And  now,  behold,  to  yonder  bank  they  bear 
A  pallid  corse,  and  rest  the  body  there. 
Alas !  too  well  mine  eyes  indignant  trace 
The  last  remains  of  Judah's  royal  race  : 
FalFn  is  our  king,  and  all  our  fears  are  o'er. 
Unhappy  Zedekiah  is  no  more. 


The  Captivity. 


Air, 

Te  wretches  who  by  fortune's  hate 
In  want  and  sorrow  groan — 

Come,  ponder  his  severer  fate, 
And  learn  to  bless  your  own. 


FIRST  PROPHET. 

Ye  vain,  whom  youth  and  pleasure  guide. 

Awhile  the  bliss  suspend  ] 
Like  yours,  his  life  began  in  pride — 

Like  hiS;  your  life  shall  end. 


SECOND   PROPHET. — RECITATIVE.  ^ 

Behold  his  wretched  corse  with  sorrow  worn, 
His  squalid  limbs  by  ponderous  fetters  torn ; 
Those  eyeless  orbs  that  shook  with  ghastly  glare, 
Those  unbecoming  rags^  that  matted  hair  ! 
And  shall  not  Heaven  for  this  avenge  the  foe, 
Grasp  the  red  bolt,  and  lay  the  guilty  low  ? 
How  long,  how  long,  Almighty  God  of  all. 
Shall  wrath  vindictive  threaten  ere  it  fall ! 


ISRAELITISH  WOMAN. 

Air, 

As  panting  flies  the  hunted  hind, 
Where  brooks  refreshing  stray  ] 

And  rivers  through  the  valley  wind, 
That  stop  the  hunter's  way  : 


148  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Works. 

Thus  we,  0  Lord,  alike  distressed. 

For  streams  of  mere j  long ; 
Streams  which  can  cheer  the  sore  oppressed, 

And  overwhelm  the  strong. 

FIRST  PROPHET. — RECITATIVE. 

But  whence  that  shout?  Good  heavens !  Amazement  allj 

See  yonder  tower  just  nodding  to  the  fall : 

Behold,  an  army  covers  all  the  ground. 

'Tis  Cyrus  here  that  pours  destruction  round : 

The  ruin  smokes,  the  torrent  pours  along — 

How  low  the  proud,  how  feeble  are  the  strong ! 

And  now,  behold,  the  battlements  recline — 

0  God  of  hosts,  the  victory  is  thine ! 

CHORUS   OP  ISRAELITES. 

Down  with  her,  Lord,  to  lick  the  dust— 

Thy  vengeance  be  begun ; 
Serve  her  as  she  has  served  the  just, 

And  let  thy  will  be  done. 

FIRST   PRIEST. — RECITATIVE. 

All,  all  is  lost !    The  Syrian  army  fails, 
Cyrus,  the  conqueror  of  the  world  prevails. 
Save  us,  0  Lord  !  to  Thee,  though  late,  we  pray; 
And  give  repentance  but  an  hour^s  delay. 


The  Captivity. 


149 


SECOND  PRIEST. 

Air. 

^      Thrice  happy,  who  in  happy  hour 
To  Heaven  their  praise  bestow, 
And  own  his  all-consuming  power 
Before  they  feel  the  blow  ! 

FIRST  PROPHET — RECITATIVE. 

Now,  now's  our  time  !  ye  wretches  bold  and  blind, 
Brave  but  to  God,  and  cowards  to  mankind,  ^ 
Ye  seek  in  vain  the  Lord  unsought  before — 
Your  wealth,  your  lives,  your  kingdom,  are  no  more ! 

Air. 

0  Lucifer,  thou  son  of  morn. 

Of  Heaven  alike  and  man  the  foe, — 

Heaven,  men,  and  all, 

Now  press  thy  fall, 
And  sink  thee  lowest  of  the  low. 

SECOND  PROPHET. 

0  Babylon,  how  art  thou  fallen — 
Thy  fall  more  dreadful  from  delay ! 

Thy  streets  forlorn, 

To  wilds  shall  turn, 
Where  toads  shall  pant,  and  vultures  prey ! 

FIRST    PROPHET. — RECITATIVE. 

Such  be  her  fate.    But  hark !  how  from  afar 
The  clarion's  note  proclaims  the  finished  war  I 
Cyrus,  our  great  restorer,  is  at  hand, 
And  this  way  leads  his  formidable  band. 


150  Goldsmith's  Poetical  Wobks 


Now  give  your  songs  of  Zion  to  the  wind^ 

And  hail  the  benefactor  of  mankind : 

He  comes,  pursuant  to  divine  decree, 

To  chain  the  strong,  and  set  the  captive  free. 

CHORUS  OF  YOUTHS. 

Eise  to  raptures  past  expressing, 
Sweeter  from  remembered  woes; 

Cyrus  comes,  our  wrongs  redressing, 
Comes  to  give  the  world  repose. 

CHORUS  OF  VIRGINS. 

Cyrus  comes,  the  world  redressing, 
Love  and  pleasure  in  his  train  : 

Comes  to  heighten  every  blessing, 
Comes  to  soften  every  pain. 

SEMI-CHORUS. 

Hail  to  him  with  mercy  reigning, 
Skiird  in  every  peaceful  art; 

Who,  from  bonds  our  limbs  unchaining, 
Only  binds  the  willing  heart. 


THE  LAST  CHORUS. 

But  chief  to  thee,  our  God,  our  father,  friend, 
Let  praise  be  given  to  all  eternity ; 

O  Thou,  without  beginning,  without  end — 
Let  us  and  all,  begin  and  end  in  Thee  ! 


THE  END. 


I 


This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  hbrary. 

DATE  wjw^T^ 
DUE 

DATE 
DUE 

DEC    £  / 

form  No.  613 

illHliliiriitj 


liiii   .  li  I 


♦ 


1 


